


Antlers & Mistletoe 🎄

by murderlight



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Christmas, Coming Out, M/M, Meddling, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: It started and ended with the mistletoe.Experiencing the Living World holiday season for the first time, Grimmjow tries to navigate the madness around him as every damn person in Kurosaki's life tries to jerk him around. Determined to find out exactly what the hell is going on with his once-enemy, he'll brave scarves, plants, booze and Yoruichi to make this Christmas one to remember.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 79
Kudos: 830





	Antlers & Mistletoe 🎄

**Author's Note:**

> merry (late) christmas everyone! let's all pretend karakura is big on the old man in the red suit. i wanted something quick, sweet and festive this year, maybe 2k words...guess who didn't get their wish??? 😂i hope you enjoy the fic. 
> 
> the reindeer outfit mentioned within is [the infamous christmas gree card outfit](https://www.dropbox.com/s/2palbnf1t55jwyj/Christmasjow.jpg?raw=1), which i absolutely could not resist incorporating into this story.

“Mistletoe?” Grimmjow repeated dubiously, twisting the tiny stem between his fingers. It was just a short stalk sprouting thin, unlovely green leaves. There were small white berries buried between them. “This has magic powers?”

“Absolutely.” Kisuke was smiling behind his fan. “If you want to fight a shinigami, you only need to hold this over their head and say the magic words: it’s tradition. They’ll be helpless to comply.”

It didn’t sound very likely, but Grimmjow didn’t know as much about shinigami outside their fighting skills as he liked to proclaim. Maybe they were beholden to certain types of trees when it was the end of their calendar year. Hueco Mundo didn’t exactly count years in a way anyone could agree upon—if you survived more than one hundred days it was good, but beyond that it was anyone’s guess—so the shinigami holding strange traditions didn’t seem abnormal. Sentimental lot that didn’t eat their weak, they probably would have some kind of loser celebration at the end of a year.

“Why give me this when I can get the same results by stabbing them?” Grimmjow frowned down at the plant, then handed it back out. “I don’t need help starting fights.” He shook it a little when Kisuke made no move to take it. The shopkeeper just slid behind his cash register and began counting the till.

“It’s good manners! I know Kurosaki-san is best caught with honey instead of vinegar. Pardon me for saying so, but in that direction you need all the help you can possibly get.”

“Fuck off,” Grimmjow muttered. Despite himself, his shoulders hunched a little. Trying to get a decent fight out of Kurosaki was harder than evolution and almost as rare, and Grimmjow had long since lost his taste for threatening young women to get him in the mood. Also, the redheaded bitch was really packing heat these days with that exploding shield of hers. He pulled the sprig of leaves back and sniffed them. When Kisuke just smiled at him like a creepy benevolent uncle, he shoved it deep in his pocket and turned for the door. Smug asshole. “Be back later, I guess.”

“Take your time,” Kisuke called merrily. “Don’t forget the first annual Urahara Shop Christmas Party tomorrow night! I laid out something cute on your bed to wear!”

“Fuck off!” Grimmjow snarled again over his shoulder. He’d seen the outfit, all right. “I ain’t wearing that!” Ignoring whatever wheedling bullshit was prattled out in reply, he leapt into footholds high in the air and turned for the burning embers of Kurosaki’s reiatsu that flared warmly across town. Seemed like he was at home; probably that time of day. The sun hadn’t been seen for almost a week with thick snow clouds blotting everything out, turning the human town into a monochrome spectacle blanketed by white. It was somehow cleaner and more pure looking than the bone-white sands of Hueco Mundo. As night approached, the rooftops glowed above yellow streetlights and lit windows. Pretty, if you were into shit like that.

Karakura was just a means to an end for Grimmjow. Give a little, get a little from the shady shopkeeper. Kisuke had his moments, but the asshole was a genius and inclined to stay on friendly terms with the remaining arrancar. It meant Grimmjow had a room in his house when he needed it, and in return he brought samples and trinkets from Aizen’s time in Las Noches for inspection. In his downtime, Grimmjow tried his damndest to provoke Kurosaki into a fight. It was largely unsuccessful, which pissed him off to no end. So, stupid berry-plant it was. Not like he had any other ideas. Darting over rooftops, knocking red cutout men to the ground wherever he saw them, Grimmjow headed for the unique signature of Kurosaki’s reiatsu.

“There’s nobody out here,” said the girl who eventually answered the door, sticking her head out and receiving a face-full of the newly fluttering snow. She wiped it off her cheeks and swept a hand through her sandy hair. “Karin, some asshole is playing knock-and-run!” The door started to close again, forcing Grimmjow to stick his boot in the way. Right, this was the sister that couldn’t see spirits. Shoving his hand over her face, he walked her backwards until he could get in the house. “Ow! Karin, it’s a—”

”If you say shinigami you’re gonna get it,” Grimmjow threatened, having exactly no idea what ‘it’ even was. “Midget.”

A dark head popped into the hallway. “Ugh, Yuzu, you let a hollow in? Ichi-nii is going to lose it!” That was Karin, then. She had the same expression of unimpressed judgement he sometimes saw on Kurosaki’s face. “How come I can hardly sense your reiatsu? You don’t look weak.”

“Hard to catch your prey when you’re radiating spiritual energy, stupid. Suppressing your presence is beginner shit.”

“Whatever,” Karin snorted. “Ichi-nii is upstairs, but you can come in and wait in the living room. Take your ugly boots off though. If you track snow in Yuzu’s gonna jam her ladle up your ass.”

“Good luck finding it,” Grimmjow muttered, flicking the forehead of the girl in question. She squealed and backed right up.

“F….fucking hollows!” Yuzu yelped, rubbing her head. Karin just nodded encouragingly.

“Hey, you’re really improving! Soon you’ll be dropping swears as naturally as breathing.”

“I don’t know, I think Dad’s going to have a real heart attack if he catches me doing it.” Yuzu walked back toward the interior of the house, leaving Grimmjow wondering if he should punch her or not. He settled for unbuckling his boots and dumping them by the door, ignoring the guest slippers.

The interior of the house was covered in glittering ropes of coloured metallic shit. A huge tree sat in the corner of the living room, laced with glinting rainbow lights and round balls. There were wrapped boxes sitting underneath the tree. Christmas things? He hadn’t really been listening to the big explanation when Kisuke gave it the first couple times. Backing up against an undecorated stretch of wall, Grimmjow leaned in what he felt was a loosely casual sort of pose and patted his pocket reassuringly. Still there.

Soon after Karin disappeared upstairs, a shout and the rapid drumbeat of footsteps sprinting down an upstairs hall pounded out. It took a couple of seconds, but Kurosaki burst out from a doorway, wild-eyed and dragging the shoulder of a red knit sweater back up into place. It was way too big for him, revealing the top of his chest and the line and dip of his collarbone. There was a snow monster on the front made of three large balls of white. Kurosaki looked down at himself and flushed almost as red as his outfit.

“Inoue knitted it,” he muttered, flashing him an embarrassed glare. Crossing his arms defensively only served to show Grimmjow that the sleeves hung off his fingers. “She made mine and Chad’s the same size. Why are you here? Kon’s off in Soul Society so I can’t even transform til he gets back, so don’t get any damn ideas about—”

Taking two long strides toward him, Grimmjow stared down the few inches he had over Kurosaki. That close, it forced him to tilt his jaw up or risk staring directly at his mouth instead. The proximity actually shut him up mid-sentence. For a few seconds, at least.

“What?” Kurosaki said warily. “You wouldn’t come here unless it was important. Is it Urahara? Nel?”

There was a spicy-sweet scent coming off Kurosaki’s breath that said he’d been eating something before running downstairs. Ignoring it, Grimmjow reached into his pocket and pulled out the plant, holding it high over their heads.

Kurosaki took one look at it and blanched. “Holy shit. Where’d you get _that_ from?!”

Shaking it a little, Grimmjow felt a swell of satisfaction as Kurosaki’s earlier irritation melted into horrified dismay. He looked absolutely cornered. Perfect. Magic plant one, Kurosaki zero. He cleared his throat.

“It’s tradition,” he said meaningfully, narrowing his eyes in challenge. “Can’t pussy out.”

There was a dawning kind of understanding filling the brown eyes staring into his. Kurosaki looked up at the plant, still pinched between Grimmjow’s fingers, then at Grimmjow himself. He swallowed hard. A renewed flush of colour gathered in his cheeks.

“I guess I’ve been getting this wrong the whole time,” Kurosaki whispered, seemingly to himself. Before Grimmjow could ask what that meant, he’d rocked up onto his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Grimmjow’s.

What. The. Fuck.

There was a split second of utter shock and a brief sensation of soft-warm-wet against his mouth before all his instincts rebelled at once. The plant hit the floor at the same time his fist cracked Kurosaki right in the jaw. The impact sent him sailing across the room until he hit the wall with a winded wheeze. White was showing around his eyes. There was blood in the corner of his mouth.

“The fuck was that, huh?” Grimmjow seethed, feeling his hackles rise. “Think you’re gonna distract me like that?”

“Wh—” Wincing, Kurosaki knuckled his lip and stared at the blood on his hand. His eyes were stricken. “What are you talking about, asshole? You asked me to!”

“No, I fuckin’ didn’t!” Wiping his mouth in exaggerated disgust, Grimmjow swooped down and grabbed the plant off the ground. “Forget it! Lost my fuckin’ appetite for you today. Asshole.” Before Kurosaki could spit out any more bullshit lies Grimmjow was out of there, jamming his feet back into his boots and stalking outside. The memory of his gaze followed him the entire way out onto the street, but that was the only thing that did. Unsettled and angry, Grimmjow licked his lips, tasting sweet gingerbread. Snarling out at the night air, blinking snowflakes out of his eyes, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and started down the street on foot.

Screw Christmas and screw Kurosaki. And screw Kisuke too, for lying about the magic plant in the first place.

Why had he kissed him?! It hadn’t even been a peck, either; Kurosaki had made sure to fully catch his mouth with his own. His nose hadn’t even hit the jaw of his mask. Dead perfect aim—

“Whoopsie!” cried a man coming in the other direction, absolutely brilliant with latent reiatsu. He skidded a little on the ice as he tried to avoid Grimmjow, his eyes startled. Grimmjow grabbed his arm before he could think twice, but he wasn’t kind about it. The guy winced and straightened his green scarf, which was looped about six times around his neck and still trailed down to his knees. “Quite a grip you have there, son. What’s an arrancar doing out in this kind of weather? I can’t imagine you’re too familiar with snow.”

A human who could see him and know at a glance what he was? “Are you a shinigami substitute?”

The guy laughed. “No, no. Just an old war dog who’s a little long in the tooth. Kurosaki Isshin, at your service. Go back to Hueco Mundo where it’s dry! You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

“Kurosaki Isshin,” Grimmjow repeated. Under the streetlight, the man didn’t look much like Kurosaki. Dark hair, jaw shaded with stubble. He had a meatier build than his son, broader and a little taller. Grimmjow would put money on that long in the tooth bullshit being just that. “I punched your son in the face.”

“Good for you! I try and I try, but he knows all my moves these days.” Isshin grinned. “The torch has fully been passed from father to son. I’d invite you back for dinner but I’m going to assume Ichigo doesn’t feel like entertaining guests anymore.” Reaching up to his neck, Isshin parted the collar of his coat and tugged the scarf off. Before Grimmjow could predict the move he’d dropped the knitted loops over his head, tugging them into place so they covered the exposed skin of his chest.

“I’m not cold, dumbass—”

“Just wear it! Orihime-chan has been a demon with the knitwear this year, and I have two more just like it hanging off the coat-stand at home.” Patting down Grimmjow’s shoulders critically, he tilted his head and nodded. “Now you’re in the Christmas spirit.”

Reminded suddenly, figuring this was the only chance he’d get, Grimmjow reached into his pocket and pulled out the mistletoe. He held it out in his palm where Isshin could see it. The man stared at it for a moment, scratching his chin.

“Well, I’m incredibly flattered. A little interested, even, in a bi-curious med school roommate sort of way. But I must decline, for even though the love of my life has fled this mortal coil, I remain very much her devoted husband.”

“What is it?” Grimmjow said at length, a horrible feeling of impending doom settling in the cavity of his stomach. Isshin plucked it out of his hand and sniffed it. He pulled a berry off and squished it in his fingers, then licked the juice off.

“Yes, that’s mistletoe all right. Genuine _and_ toxic in large doses. Where did you get it?”

“From Urahara Kisuke. What’s it for?”

Isshin gave him a wondering look. “Nobody told you? Did—well now. You didn’t show this to Ichigo, did you?” Grimmjow just stared at him. Isshin blinked twice and scratched his chin again in what was an obvious attempt to hide his smile. “Oh, my boy. I think Urahara has pulled a seasonal prank on you. Lay it on me, then.”

“He said I could make any shinigami fight me if I held it over them.” Suddenly the words sounded so fucking stupid. Strangely, Isshin didn’t immediately laugh his ass off. If anything, his expression sobered right up.

“Urahara needs to know when to keep to his own affairs and simply leave Ichigo be.” Reaching out, he tugged the end of the scarf where it rested over Grimmjow’s chest. “Mistletoe is an old Christmas tradition; two people found standing beneath a fruitful sprig of mistletoe are expected to kiss. Ichigo would have known this. Go easy on him, arrancar-san. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he wouldn’t have intended any offence. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Grimmjow absorbed all that in silence. Then he said, “My name’s Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Former sexta espada.”

Isshin winced audibly. “Of course you are. Urahara’s intelligence prevails, as ever.”

“Is the plant magic then?”

“Not a bit.”

“Then Kurosaki just kissed me because it’s tradition? I didn’t think humans went that far for their customs.” In fact… “You just fucking said no!”

“I certainly did, didn’t I? Turned you down flat.” Isshin’s brown eyes sparkled a little. “Well! Pardon my bad manners, but I’m freezing my hairy balls off out here and Yuzu’s got a roast in the oven. Stop by again sometime, I’m sure Karin would enjoy attempting to murder you. She’s such a little spitfire. Merry Christmas! Give my regards to Urahara!”

Giving Grimmjow no time to think up a way to voice his curiosity, Isshin belted it out of there. He was pretty spry on the icy sidewalk all of a sudden. Good at playing stupid, then. Had he even lost his balance to begin with?

Feeling a little like he’d lost his own equilibrium, the walk back to the Urahara Shop was full of tumbling questions Grimmjow had no answer for. He didn’t have experience in the ways of humans, and traditions didn’t mean shit in Las Noches. They didn’t have things like mistletoe, or Christmas, or stupid old men who brought gifts. Barragan had probably been the closest, and all he’d ever given Grimmjow was a broken wrist for sitting in his chair at the meeting table. Kisuke wasn’t a reliable source of fuckin’ anything though, that much was clear. But what he couldn’t figure out was why he’d send him off to Kurosaki with some kind of kiss plant.

Grimmjow asked Kisuke that very question when he got back into the shop, but the forearm he’d jammed against the asshole’s throat wasn’t letting a lot of words slip free. He found sudden patience in retrieving his answers as Kisuke’s normally affable calm was replaced by a lot of gasping and purple-red flushing.

“Look—it was—an impromptu experiment! A good scientist—considers all—options!” Grabbing Grimmjow’s bad wrist like he’d known it was there all along, Kisuke jammed his fingertips between the tendons and hit something important that flashed pain up his arm. His sudden gasp of free air only lasted as long as it took for Grimmjow to knee him in the stomach. “Ooh, Grimmjow, please. I’m delicate.”

“You’ll be paste if you don’t cough up some real answers.” With one last shove up against the wall of the shop, he let go. “Why’d you make Kurosaki kiss me? Fuckin’ pervert, you said he’d want to fight.”

“Forgive the subterfuge, it was badly done of me,” Kisuke said apologetically. Grimmjow settled a little, but made sure his expression didn’t thaw. Straightening his crooked hat, Kisuke pulled his fan from inside his kosode. Grimmjow slapped it to the floor on reflex. “My theatrical prop!” Kisuke cried. “That’s for when I’m being ambiguous and handsome!”

“I’ve seen menos better looking than you. Now talk. What the hell was it all for? Make it quick, because unless you’re hiding your zanpakutou up your dickhole I’m gonna start taking fingernails.”

“Are you forgetting about my fine posterior? It could fit many swords.” Kisuke tried for a shady smile, then hesitated. “I really need my fan for these sorts of comments.” Grimmjow raised his fist again. “Fine, fine! I’ll tell you. I sent you over because Kurosaki-san said he wasn’t coming to the party tomorrow. It’s an affront after all the work Tessai, Jinta and Ururu did! I thought it might pique his interest if you were to, say, do something extremely out of character and flounce off in a temper, as you’re so wont to do.”

Flounce? “When have I ever—”

“It made sense in my head at the time! But now I expect Kurosaki-san will arrive tomorrow night, if only to corner you about your depraved—” Kisuke paused abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “One moment, did you say he did kiss you?”

“No fucking shit,” Grimmjow grated, flexing his fingers. He could feel his claws trying to grow through his sealed form. “Just like you planned, asshole. Think I broke his jaw—”

“But he took you up on your offer.”

“Course he did! Tradition, like you said!”

Kisuke’s eyes lit up. “Grimmjow, does Kurosaki-san strike you as the type to adhere to tradition at all costs?”

Confused by the question and irritated all the more for it, Grimmjow stepped away to better glare at him. Kisuke took the opportunity to swoop down and grab his fan back off the ground, but he didn’t extend it. Instead he waited, like he was actually interested in an answer for once.

Grimmjow, on the other hand, had no idea what to say. Because he did know the answer: Kurosaki didn’t give a shit about rules and happily broke them. Rules of the shinigami, when he donned that hollow mask. Rules of power, when he kept challenging people who could and would kill him on the spot. Traditions were just rules without real punishments. Breaking those would be nothing.

Kurosaki had kissed him anyway, because the plant was there and he knew what it meant.

Kurosaki had wanted to kiss him.

And Grimmjow had broken his face for it.

“You’re a shit person,” Grimmjow told Kisuke, glaring ferociously. “Can’t you hatch one fucking dickhead plan without pulling me into it?”

“Why would I do that when you’re here and so gullible?” Kisuke tutted a little. “Honestly Grimmjow, I know you’re naive to the ways of the human world, but how could a plant make Kurosaki-san fight you?”

“It shouldn’t be able to make him kiss me, either,” Grimmjow ground out. He absolutely fucking refused to be embarrassed by this shit. He _refused_. “Fuck this Christmas thing and fuck your party. I’m out of here.” Pushing past the unapologetic bullshit Kisuke was spouting, he kicked his boots off, threw the green scarf on top of them and strode into the house proper, fully intending on gathering up his meagre belongings and going the hell back to Las Noches. Nelliel would have no problem attending the stupid party in his stead. Knowing her, she’d probably even kiss Kurosaki all he wanted. Let him really get it out of his system, since he liked it so much. Crazy bastard.

His plans were completely kicked in the ass when he threw open the shoji door to his room and found Yoruichi bent over going through his sack of belongings. She was wearing some kind of red miniskirt with a white trim that did nothing to hide her black thong—or half of her big brown ass. Grimmjow suffered for about the tenth time that day.

“Get out of my junk,” he snarled when she finally looked up, holding his comb pinched between slim fingers. Curious yellow eyes roved over it, then trailed to the end of her ponytail. Grimmjow saw red. “Don’t you fucking—” She started vigorously running it through her hair. “I’m going to blow this entire city block to hell one day.”

“You mean when you finally have Las Noches restored and Soul Society has stopped trying to take away all its resources under the umbrella of Aizen’s treasonous proceeds of crime? When you finally don’t need us anymore?” She grinned, teeth white and sharp. “Where are those claw trimmers Kisuke built for you? I like that little file attachment.”

“They’re back home,” he grunted, knowing full well they were in the bathroom upstairs. “Where I’m going once you give back my shit.”

“What’s got you sulking? Tessai catch you spraying piss on the cushions again? You know he hates it.”

“I have never fuckin’ done that!”

“Hm. Must’ve been me.” Yoruichi dropped the comb on the floor and heaved her breasts up a little, where they were spilling out of tight red cups. “What do you think of my Christmas party outfit? I wanted yours, but Tessai said all the nipple tape in the world wouldn’t keep the coat shut and someone would call the cops.” She snorted rudely. “My nipples are a gift to mankind. Hiding them is the real crime.”

“I don’t care.” Grimmjow grabbed the comb before she could step on it. Yoruichi was a cat in a woman’s body in ways even he couldn’t match. Selfish bitch, she’d left her hair tangled around the teeth. Throwing it into the sack, he barged her out of his way and grabbed at the air to tear a garganta open.

Nothing happened.

“Oh yeah,” Yoruichi said, “we turned on a barrier to stop that. No uninvited guests, you know.”

“And no fuckin’ way outta here,” Grimmjow snarled. “How far does it extend?”

“Remember when the shinigami switched Karakura into the Soul Society?”

“ _Fuck._ ” He didn’t actually remember that, mostly on account of bleeding to death in Hueco Mundo at the time, but he wasn’t an idiot. “Tomorrow night, I’m gonna publicly beat Kisuke to death with one of those giant candy canes.”

“In costume,” Yoruichi said, grabbing a bundle of red off the futon and holding it up. “I want you in the pants, then the chaps, then the coat. If I don’t get to wear the holy shit out of this ensemble, I’m going to make sure your feral hide looks fantastic in it.” She held up a brown plastic headband and grinned. “Antlers included.”

Grimmjow snarled one more time, just for good measure, and threw the headband across the room. Yoruichi just stretched without a care in the world. One of her tits popped out of its tiny bra.

“God damn it.” She ripped the entire thing off. “What’s the point? What _is_ the point, Grimmjow?” Flinging it at his face so hard it caught on his mask, she stalked out of the room. “I want that fucking nail file! Oh, hey, Jinta.”

“Boobs,” a weak voice said from the hall. “I need a priest.”

“Tessai-san’s ordained,” Kisuke called from some other room. “Is Yoruichi-san naked again?”

“Yoruichi-san is sick of your double standard bullshit, Kisuke!” Yoruichi yelled back. “Find me a bigger Santa bikini!”

Some kind of argument broke out about who had the more accurate breast measurement. Jinta sounded like he was sniffling in the background. Grimmjow slammed his door shut so hard the wood frame shot off its track and splintered in three places. Let Tessai bitch to him about that.

So he was stuck there one more night. Fine. Kisuke could be a petty bastard over the stupidest shit, but Grimmjow could be patient. If it took attending one stupid Christmas party to shut him up, he’d have leverage for favours later. A hot water generator in Las Noches, for instance. The Living World in general was a pain in his ass, but the showers made up for it. For that possibility, Grimmjow could even make nice with Kurosaki for a night.

Rubbing his knuckles in memory of the impact, Grimmjow wondered if there hadn’t been something weird going on even before he’d turned up at the house. Mistletoe aside, maybe Kurosaki had been off his game. No hollering or arguing after he’d punched him, no attempts to defend himself. Definitely hadn’t chased after him. That was new.

Maybe he had too much ego about it, but Kurosaki had never missed an opportunity to get in his face when something needed saying, whether it was with words or swords. His old man had even had a weird face, hadn’t he? Kisuke interfering again?

Whatever. Wasn’t his fuckin’ problem, and besides, Kisuke’s plans always worked out for him. Let him play puppetmaster. He was good at it.

Whatever was going on, it sure as hell wasn’t Grimmjow’s business.  
  


* * *

  
Twenty-four hours, a shitload of glittery decorations and too much goddamn green and red later, Kisuke appeared at Grimmjow’s side looking confounded. His stupid Santa hat was crooked, small sprouts of pale hair sticking out from under the white trim.

“I can’t believe I was wrong.”

Grimmjow ignored him. He flat-out refused to engage with anyone dressed like an asshole, which so far meant every single shitty attendee. Fuck, it was a lot of shinigami; even in gigai he could smell them. There were some humans too; milling around like they knew everyone. And him? The only fucking arrancar. Naturally.

“Grimmjow, I just said I was wrong,” Kisuke hissed, elbowing him hard. “Record this moment. Dance. Celebrate. Kurotsuchi would be cartwheeling through the streets naked right now if he’d heard such a thing!”

“I don’t know who that is.” Grimmjow glared across the huge over-decorated room, which was just really four consecutive rooms with their shoji removed. A familiar flash of ginger caught his eye, but it was the wrong colour. Inoue Orihime was stretching her neck to look through the crowd with those sad cow eyes he remembered. Kisuke followed his gaze and sighed.

“She’s going to have a terrible time. Poor girl. I suppose even I can’t stand against his will.” Hanging his head so low the bell on his hat flipped forward with a jingle, Kisuke sagged in defeat. “I think I have the holiday blues now.” He sprang back up and slapped Grimmjow on the back. “Time to get drunk! Yoruichi-san!” he called. “How’s that new batch coming along?”

“I can’t see out of my left eye,” slurred a familiar voice from the kitchen. Grimmjow wasn’t sticking around for that. Hell, he wasn’t sticking around for any of that shit. Once Kisuke was good and tanked he wouldn’t even notice he was gone. Shouldering his way through the crowd, ignoring a couple of surprised exclamations from random shinigami he absolutely didn’t fuckin’ know, Grimmjow headed for the shop and from there, outside. Sweet fuckin’ freedom.

He’d just yanked the door open when he came face to face with too many Kurosakis. Three, actually, and not a single one resembled his.

“Merry Christmas!” Isshin cried, trying for a hug. Grimmjow planted a black-gloved hand on his face to hold him back. “Mephhf!” Scratchy hell rubbed against his palm.

“Hey, that’s what you did to me, isn’t it?” The pint-sized sister from yesterday, Yuzu, snapped her fingers. She was wearing a pair of glasses with lenses so thick it was a Christmas miracle she could see anything. Since she was focussing on him, they must’ve been a design of Kisuke’s. Beaming, she pulled a candy cane out of her pocket and slipped it into his coat. “Merry Christmas, bitch!”

“Yuzu!” Isshin shouted, slapping Grimmjow’s hand away. “I will not have that kind of language in my house!”

“We’re in Urahara’s house,” Karin pointed out. She gave Grimmjow the finger when he frowned at her. “Get out of the way, we’re single and trying to mingle. Is Renji here? And Sado?” Grabbing the midget’s mittened hand, she lurched under Grimmjow’s arm and disappeared into the crowd.

“Fucking infants,” Grimmjow grunted, tugging the candy cane out of his pocket. It reeked of peppermint. “Shit, my eyes.” He shoved it back in his pocket, rubbing his fingers on his red costume coat. Isshin stepped back to admire it.

“Are you a Santa or a stripper? Are these velcro?” Like a man with a true death wish, he reached for Grimmjow’s pants. Somehow, he dodged the automatic attempt to break all of his fingers. “Touchy, are we? I would be too, if I had to live in this madhouse.” Stepping out of the way, he let Grimmjow exit the house. Strangely, he shut the door without going inside. His smile was wry. “Grimmjow-san, I have an awkward favour to ask.”

“No.” That was how Kisuke got him every fucking time, and he wasn’t getting tricked into shit again. “In fact, hell no.”

Isshin blinked. “It involves Ichigo.”

“You’ve got thirty seconds.”

“I daresay I have more than that,” Isshin replied shrewdly. He kept his eyes on his mittens as he tugged them off. This time, his comically long scarf was white. “It’s hardly a favour, really, but I couldn’t convince Ichigo to come with us tonight. Nothing to do with you, before you ask.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

“Well, just in case you were the sensitive sort.” Eyes raked down his bare chest and over the wide swathe of scar tissue slanting across it. “Maybe not. If you happen to see him in your travels tonight, would you mind kidnapping him violently and bringing him here? I wholly encourage whatever use of gags and bondage gear you arrancar are into these days.” He smiled broadly. Fuckin’ father of the year. When Grimmjow didn’t reply, it faded a little. “Look, everyone’s tried everything. Ichigo has been holed up at home for weeks now. You’re probably the only one who hasn’t knocked down the door yet. Who knows, maybe you can talk some sense into him?” Isshin hesitated. “Maybe he’ll even be interested in picking up his zanpakutou again.”

It was what wasn’t being said that got under Grimmjow’s skin the most. He’d been right, Kurosaki was fucked up about something and it had leaked into his urge to fight. Or even leave his house. But knowing that didn’t mean shit; he wasn’t gonna be able to do a damn thing. Kurosaki wouldn’t want to see him, and—and Grimmjow didn’t even want to go anyfuckingway.

Hunching his shoulders down, trying for his best glare, Grimmjow shook his head. “No deal.”

“But—”

“Maybe having all you assholes in his face is exactly the problem. Kurosaki does what he wants. He’s not coming because this party fucking sucks. End of story.” He stared until Isshin’s hope faded into a considering look. Good. Maybe now everyone would quit taking favours out of his ass.

“There’s no bullshit with you, is there? You’re as blunt as they come.”

“Yeah.” Grimmjow lifted his chin. “I am.”

Isshin’s lips pursed in thought for a moment. He nodded sharply.

“Then I’ll be similarly direct: stay with us when you need to do business in the Living World.” Grimmjow’s brows shot up, but he wasn’t finished. “I can turn the clinic office into a spare bedroom. The girls already like you, or they wouldn’t be acting like rabid animals so quickly. And Ichigo could use some refreshing company.” A small smile quirked Isshin’s mouth. “You’d pull his head out of his ass in no time.”

“You know I tried to kill him a lot, right? And I still might?”

“Who hasn’t?” was the breezy reply. A hand clapped him on the shoulder, overly familiar and warm. Grimmjow instinctively slid out from under it, glaring mulishly. “Just think about it. We don’t charge rent and I can even promise not to manipulate you into participating in my cunning plans.”

“No thanks.” Did everyone think he was an idiot? Old man Kurosaki was already plotting rings around him, or he thought he was. “I’m outta here. If you see Kisuke, tell him I’ve done my fuckin’ time already.”

Isshin sighed. “Well, Merry Christmas.”

“Whatever—” The white scarf was dumped around his neck, still warm. “What’s with you and these fucking scarves?”

“Shut up and accept my pseudo-fatherly concern, arrancar,” Isshin said flatly, and Grimmjow tensed at the sound of pretence sliding away. “It’s snowing outside and my son won’t let me help him. Wear the damn scarf.”

“Fine, fuck.” Wary at the sudden personality somersault, Grimmjow watched closely as Isshin stuck his shoes with the others and walked into the party. The door closed after him, sealing all the noise away inside. Some sort of sound barrier, probably.

After that, he couldn’t get out of the shop fast enough. Grimmjow practically threw himself out into the whirling white night air, stomping down on the thick layer of snow that crusted under his big black rubber boots. The cold was strong enough that it bit at his chest and face, but it was hardly anything worth complaining about. Definitely didn’t need a damn scarf. What was it anyway, bribery? Leaping across footholds in the air, Grimmjow sprinted across the sky just for the hell of it, eating snowflakes and catching them on his eyelashes. It was really coming down, if you could say that about snow.

If he was totally honest with himself, the snow did fascinate him a little. The stubbled bastard hadn’t been wrong the first time; it didn’t snow in Hueco Mundo, or rain. There were no blizzards or snowstorms, no thunder or lightning. He wasn’t used to shit falling out of the sky, and he damn well wasn’t used to it being this cold. Not outside some random shinigami’s shikai attack, anyway. Last time he’d felt as cold as he did then, he’d been frozen solid and an inch from killing Kurosaki on a suburban street.

Good memories. Shit had really changed since then.

Whatever crazy weather the Living World had, the cold alone couldn’t hurt him, and the silence was better than the hot light and colour of Kisuke’s party. More and more the entire thing seemed like it had been set up just to lure Kurosaki out. Nice try.

Grimmjow leapt higher and higher, feeling the wind pick up and blow his long red coat out behind him. He hadn’t wanted to wear the damn thing, but Yoruichi really had and he could be petty when he wanted to. Besides, it showed his scar off to its best advantage, just like the old days, and the cloth was the dull red of drying blood. But like hell was he wearing those fucking antlers.

Grimmjow was still fuming over their addition when he felt a small ping of sensation in the back of his mind. Usually he needed his pesquisa to locate someone, but over the years one reiatsu seemed to push through regardless, like he’d thought about it so much he knew it like an extra sense. Or more like a taste he wouldn’t let himself forget. Whatever it was, it was Kurosaki, and he wasn’t at home. Squinting into the whirling wind, frowning down at the white-capped city in concentration, he pinpointed it somewhere away from populated areas. There was a darkness around it. Woods? Trees? Lifeless place. Wherever Kurosaki was, he was completely alone.

Sucking his teeth for an instant, Grimmjow weighed his options. Go see what Kurosaki was doing and play right into Isshin’s hopes and dreams? Or go find enough snow to build an enormous Aizen and then melt its face in with a cero?

“Could do both,” Grimmjow allowed himself, licking snow off his lip. “But we’re petty tonight, so fuck it. Have a nice night to yourself, asshole.” Turning in the other direction, he flipped up the thick fur-lined hood sagging down his back and continued bolting across the sky. Maybe he could shoot off a few festive cero to clear out the snow clouds later. New experiences were interesting and all, but he was getting wet. And kinda cold, in a distant, abstract kind of way.

Hell, maybe Kurosaki was too. Wasn’t he human at the moment?

What the hell could be more important than keeping warm and alive?

What the fuck was out there in that patch of town?

Slowing down, Grimmjow tipped his head to the sky. The wind swirled around him in long, quiet gusts of ice. His hands slowly closed into gloved fists.

“ _Fuck._ ”

At least it couldn’t be worse than the party, Grimmjow told himself angrily and he turned and launched back the way he’d come, slipping into sonido to escape the burn of snow hitting his cheeks. Without much thought, he followed the imagined light of Kurosaki’s spiritual energy down, down, down to a patch of town only dotted by the yellow light of sparse overhead streetlights. Boots landing with a hard thud, testing what felt like stone under the blanket of snow, Grimmjow looked around his new surroundings.

It was a cemetery.

Stone monuments stood in neat lines, perfectly aligned with wide walkways breaking up each row. The place was sprawling, huge, and dead. In every sense of the word. No sane person would be outside on a winter night like that if they didn’t have to be, and they sure wouldn’t be in a cemetery. Turning left slightly, then right, Grimmjow cast his senses around for a moment. Then, knowing he’d been noticed by that point, he took one short leap over two of the rows and landed on the topmost pillar of a memorial stone, arms crossed and staring down at Kurosaki Ichigo.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Looking up from his work, Kurosaki stared blankly at Grimmjow for a long moment. Specifically, his choice of outfit. Mouth opening as if he was going to say something, Kurosaki hesitated, brow knitting slightly, and then he turned back to clearing snow away from the gravesite by hand. It looked like clumsy fucking work, since he was wearing mittens. Kurosaki just doggedly worked his way around the stone, scraping it clear. It was still fucking snowing. Talk about futility.

“I know you don’t give a shit about the living, but even you should know a cemetery when you see one.” Kurosaki didn’t look up as he spoke; just used his teeth to tug back his dragging sleeves, rubbing his forearm through his orange hair. It was full of snowflakes. “Looks like Urahara dragged you into his party. Hope you’ve figured out what mistletoe is by now.”

Right. Fuck.

“Might’ve.” Leaping down onto the walkway, hearing the satisfying creak of a few inches of snow under his feet, Grimmjow shoved his hands in his pockets and approached. “Your face isn’t broken.”

“My dad’s a doctor.”

“No doctor’s that good. I felt your jaw break.”

Kurosaki frowned at the newest stretch of snow-covered stone. “Dad’s a retired shinigami. He’s better at healing kidou than he lets on.” Surprise, surprise. Again, Kurosaki bit his sleeve and pulled it back. The ends were sodden with melted snow. Belatedly, Grimmjow realised he was still wearing that sagging mess of a christmas sweater. The neck of it had slid almost completely to one side, leaving his skin naked to the air. He had to be freezing. “I don’t know what Urahara has on you, but I’m not coming to his party.” His mouth pulled in. “Not even for Santa Claus.”

“I’m not Santa, dickhead. I’m a reindeer.” Grimmjow pulled the antler headband out of the lining pocket in the coat and waved it. “See? And I don’t give a shit if you don’t go. Think I want to go back to that fuckin’ shinigami daisy chain? Freeze to death out here for all I care. You’re in the right place for it.”

“Right.” Gaze straying to the antlers for a moment longer, Kurosaki turned away slowly. “Well, see you.” Back to miserably scraping the snow. This time, he ran his mittened hand down the length of the pillar-like flat face of the tall stone.

Grimmjow, pissed off in ways he couldn’t articulate without sounding like he cared about what was going on, stomped forward and lit a cero in his palm. He ran it down the pillar, melting the snow into long rivulets of water. As it vanished, revealing the grey stone beneath, the engraved kanji was slowly revealed.

_KUROSAKI_

Grimmjow pulled his hand away like he’d been bitten, realising he was crashing Kurosaki’s depression spiral with some dead relative. Who the fuck hung out with a grave in half a damn blizzard? Crazy fuckers, that was who. The grave looked old, anyway.

Watching him with that same tired wariness, Kurosaki looked between the stone words and Grimmjow’s face, weighing something.

“My mother,” he said by way of explanation. Slowly, his shoulders straightened a little, his head lifting. The neck of his sweater was threatening to slip completely down his shoulder, but he didn’t have hands to jerk it back up. Grimmjow’s fingers twitched. “She’s been dead since I was nine. I guess it’s stupid, but when everyone went to the party I thought I’d just…come and talk. It’s a human thing.”

“So I wouldn’t get it,” Grimmjow said succinctly. Kurosaki nodded. “Well go on then, talk to it.”

“Her.”

“She’s not there,” Grimmjow said, real slow, like he might not understand. Surely he couldn’t be that fucking dumb. “What’s the difference between praying here or in your house? What are you even praying for? Death by exposure? Dipshit.” The last shot was added in case he sounded like he was concerned. Curiosity and concern were as far apart as—as gillian and arrancar. But Kurosaki just scowled at him, his cheeks and the tip of his nose red from the cold.

“Fuck off, Grimmjow. I don’t expect you to understand our traditions, but you could at least find somewhere else to go instead of being an asshole.”

“Traditions? Like the mistletoe?”

Kurosaki tensed. It was visible in his shoulders and the set of his newly-healed jaw.

“Yeah, like the mistletoe, dumbass. For the record, I don’t have any interest in ever fighting you again. My shinigami days are done with. Someone else is taking care of Karakura now.” Scraping at the stone again with more violence than before, getting hardly anywhere with it, Kurosaki ripped off his mittens and threw them down with his coat. Then, like a complete imbecile, he started bare-handedly scraping handfuls of snow away while it swirled around him in a fresh flurry. It was like he wasn’t even aware of how cold he was.

Watching it play out, Grimmjow thought seriously about killing him. Not just for the crack about never fighting him, but because he’d never seen someone actively participate in their own hypothermia before. It was either a death wish or a cry for help, and Grimmjow didn’t do interventions. So, death it was. Quick, easy, silent. His reiryoku-rich soul would make a banquet of a meal while it was still confused.

Instead, Grimmjow pulled his stupidly long scarf off over his head by the loops, keeping them intact, and dumped the whole thing over Kurosaki’s bowed head, swivelling the knitted softness until it looked like it was on right. It covered all the skin that was showing from the loose and damp christmas disaster he insisted on wearing. Kurosaki looked down at it in disbelief for way too long, then lifted his eyes to Grimmjow’s. In the yellow streetlight they looked as golden brown as Kisuke’s christmas brandy stash.

“Isn’t this one of Inoue’s?” Something like panic crossed his face. Grimmjow’s attention sharpened as Kurosaki jumped to his feet. “Did you—have you talked to her? You didn’t tell her about the mistletoe, did you?” He actually crossed the short distance at the side of the plot and lifted his hands to grab the edges of Grimmjow’s coat. His eyes were desperate. Again, his gut said everything was way the fuck off.

“The scarf came from your old man,” Grimmjow said, biting back his instinctive urge to give him a hard time. Kurosaki’s teeth were gritted like he was about to break his own jaw. “It’s the second one he’s shoved at me, too. Like I even need that shit. Your girl got some kind of knitting addiction?”

“My girl?” Kurosaki abruptly let go, stepping away. His heels hit the concrete edge of the grave, making him wobble. Grimmjow caught one of the giant white snowballs on his sweater and yanked him forward til he found his feet. “Inoue isn’t my girl. She’s—she was a really good friend. But I ruined it.” Trying for a smile, his mouth did nothing but wobble too. “I ruined everything, and I can’t fix it because I’m the problem.” Trying to detach Grimmjow’s fist in his sweater with his clumsy cold fingers, he winced. “God, you’re really warm.”

“No, you’re just a fucking icecube of a human, sitting out in the snow wearing fuck-all, talking in riddles and shit like I even care about whatever bullshit’s going on with Inoue fucking Orihime.”

Kurosaki’s brow creased. “No, it’s not her fault.”

Grimmjow had heard enough. All the stupid plots and ploys going on, and it was because Kurosaki was having girl trouble? All that talk about not fighting anymore because she was crying into her magic hairpins over something? For fuck’s sake.

“You’re gonna tell exactly what the hell is going on. Right now. Or the next person I ask will be your little shield bitch, and I’m not asking nicely. I’ve had enough of being jerked around by you fuckers.”

To his credit, Kurosaki took his threat seriously. Throat bobbing, his mouth worked for a moment. The freezing fingers wrapped around his fist stopped trying to remove his grip. Finally, he looked away, like he couldn’t stand the sight of his face anymore.

“Look, I’m sorry if you got dragged into this. I’m just—I know, you don’t care, so I’ll just say it: a couple of months ago Inoue told me she was in love with me.” He looked at Grimmjow expectantly.

What was he supposed to do? Make a noise? Nod?

“I’m fuckin’ shocked.” Close enough. Oddly, Kurosaki’s mouth ticked up a little.

“She said that she had been in love with me for years, through all the stuff with Soul Society and Las Noches, when I lost my powers, all through the war with the quincies. The whole time.” Kurosaki’s brows creased with the memory, the faint smile fading. His shoulders hunched under the scarf. “I knew what I was supposed to say; I’m not stupid. But when I was standing there, and I could just plot the rest of my life out in one long stretch like some kind of midday movie, I realised I didn’t love her the way she loved me. I couldn’t.” He sucked in a long, fortifying breath, staring hard at something only he could see. “So I told her I was sorry. I told everyone I was sorry. They all thought it was a done deal. But Inoue deserves someone who won’t just say yes because it’s easier than facing the truth.” Brown eyes switched back to him slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. “Hard to show your face when you’ve disappointed everyone and broken a friend’s heart.”

For a long, strange moment Grimmjow tried to fit that information into something that made sense with what had been going on. It was missing a few parts. More than a few.

“What’s with the fuckin’ knitting then?”

Kurosaki blinked. “The—oh, right. Tatsuki told me it’s like how some people binge eat when they’re sad. She’s knitting her guilt and giving the pieces out to everyone.”

“Guilt,” Grimmjow repeated, feeling like he was going insane. “Why’s she guilty?”

“Because it’s Inoue.” A shrug, like it was a given. “I told her like ten times it’s not her fault, she didn’t make me gay, but she’s got this idea that if she’d never said anything it wouldn’t have all come out the way it did.” Slowly, a different stain of red gathered in Kurosaki’s face. The hand covering Grimmjow’s fist in his sweater was clammy. “So that’s it. I’m lying low so I don’t upset her or make her feel like she has to avoid our other friends, my dad’s being a freak about it, and Urahara is trying to meddle any way he can.” The hand slid away.

Again, trying to pass all that through a filter where _any_ of that dramatic bullshit was worth a damn was fucking impossible. It was—none of that shit mattered. None of it. But Kurosaki was wearing a two day-old guilt sweater and sitting in the freezing snow talking to his dead mother, and there was a redhead back at Urahara’s who probably had blisters on her hands from all the stupid knitting she’d been doing. Hollows talked about how they missed being human all the time, but just then Grimmjow would rather live ten thousand years as an arrancar before he’d willingly put himself through any of that inconsequential shit.

“Is that why you kissed me when I had the mistletoe? You wanna fuck guys?”

Kurosaki visibly flinched. He tried stepping away, but Grimmjow wasn’t letting go. Around them, the wind was slowly picking up into something threatening a snowstorm. Planting his palms on Grimmjow’s chest like two freezing cold stars, he tried to push back and get loose, but after a moment of pure futility Kurosaki just flexed his fingers a little on the bare skin of his scarred pecs.

“It’s like warming my hands on a fire,” Kurosaki said, baffled as he stared down at his fingers. He shook his head. “But no, I kissed you because I thought _you_ wanted to fuck guys. And, I don’t know, I was curious why you’d come to my house for it.”

“Where else would I go?” Grimmjow didn’t understand the startled blink that elicited. “You’re my only equal.” When Kurosaki just kept staring, he ran through his words again. “Y’know, in the hypothetical world where I want to fuck someone, you’d be my first stop. Probably.” Hard to be definite when the situation had never arisen. Sex was usually the last thing on a hollow’s mind, on account of always eating each other. Sex was dangerous and biologically pointless, since hollows couldn’t breed. Humans though; Grimmjow had seen enough movies on Kisuke’s tiny cube-shaped television to know they thought about it all the fucking time. Hah. He shifted a little as Kurosaki leaned on him just a little harder, crowding him a bit. There was a shiver running up his arms and into Grimmjow’s chest by then. Good. “Put your coat on, stupid, and let’s go to that party. Kisuke will keep throwing them til you show up, and I don’t have the kind of patience his shit demands. So in the interests of me not clawing his face off and eating it in front of Ururu and Jinta, pick up your balls and let’s go.”

“You don’t have to do what he says, you know,” Kurosaki said, his face shutting down. His eyes were firmly on his hands. “I don’t know what he has over you. Resources? For Las Noches?”

“That, but mostly he holds off the shinigami while we rebuild. They want to come in and confiscate the entire citadel for research. Some painted asshole wants it declared a…” He tried to think. “A forensic crime scene. Something about everything being a sample. Wants to kick us all out. Kisuke has some kind of pull with him, so he lets me bring shit to the Living World, and he passes it on. Keeps ‘em out of Hueco Mundo.” That was the gist of it anyway; Grimmjow was pretty sure Kisuke had made a few personal promises to Soul Society for new equipment in order to spare Harribel the clusterfuck of having everything go to shit for a third time.

Kurosaki looked a little startled. “So he’s helping you, and you help him. Including his weird plans? Letting him trick you with mistletoe?”

“Yeah, I choked him out a little over that one.” Grimmjow shrugged, finally letting go of the sweater. It was getting kinda damp from the snow and felt gross. Kurosaki’s hands slid away when he turned and sat on the back of the next row’s memorial stone, crossing his ankles. “Las Noches is my territory as much as it’s Harribel and Nel’s. We just let her make all the decisions. I’m what stands at the perimeter, so…” He shrugged again. “Not everything’s gotta be a fight to the death. Kisuke’s got some good ideas sometimes.”

“So you don’t just come here to fight me.” Was that disappointment in his voice?

“Be a lean fucking harvest if that’s all I came for. Nah, you’re playtime.” He frowned. “Or you would have been. Now it’s just running shit back and forth. You know, after a while of being in the garganta too often, everything starts tasting like metal? Think your gingerbread mouth was the first thing in two months I could actually taste.” Tipping his face to the falling snow, Grimmjow stuck his tongue out and caught a couple of flakes. They just melted into rain, tasting like nothing. Just cold. “Few more runs of gear from the basement levels and I won’t need to come here anymore.”

There’d been no time to renegotiate terms or anything, but privately Grimmjow wouldn’t have minded spending more time in the Living World. Humans had some interesting ideas when they weren’t milling around pissing him off. Besides, they were easy enough to avoid when he wanted to. He’d probably miss all the rain and snow. Definitely gonna miss the hot showers. But without Kisuke’s agreement with the shinigami, he’d end up causing another war just by being in Karakura. Well, whatever. He was used to going without. It was what hollows did.

“I never really figured you for someone smart enough to stop and think about the big picture,” Kurosaki said starkly, crossing his arms over his chest. His teeth were chattering a little. “I thought fighting was all you wanted to do. I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this.”

The wind whipped a flurry of snow up Grimmjow’s side then, but it didn’t hit any harder than Kurosaki’s words. Yeah, yeah. Dumb killer actually has one brain cell, news at nine. Tch. He pushed off the stone and jerked his coat straight. That was enough humouring for one night.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Kurosaki.” Pulling the shitty peppermint candy cane out of his pocket, he threw it into the offerings box for the newly-cleaned grave and turned away. Kurosaki scrambled after him, his brows creased upward in consternation, some kind of explanation bleating out of him. “Save it, dickhead. I don’t care what you think of me.”

“I didn’t mean it like—I know you’re smart!” Kurosaki tried, but Grimmjow didn’t give a shit. It was cold, Kurosaki was a self-absorbed pain in the ass and there was a warm house with alcohol waiting for him. It might be full of shinigami, but it was still better company than what he had out there.

So Grimmjow took one step, then another and launched into the air. Kurosaki, locked into his human skin and looking like pale death, couldn’t even begin follow. Good. Finding foothold after foothold, he left the cemetery behind, far below the snow clouds and their gathering blizzard.

Maybe that was all Kurosaki was now: regrets and guilt and a weak human body.

Well, not his problem.

Not a damn part of it was Grimmjow’s problem.  
  


* * *

  
“Drink this. Just looking at you is making me sober up.” Yoruichi pushed a large cup into his hands, staggering a little as she fell the rest of the way to sit beside him. “It’s nog. I want to say there’s egg in there, but mostly it’s cream, spices, sugar, and about five kinds of alcohol.” Grimmjow took a gulp without thinking and almost shot the lot of it out his nostrils. Yoruichi patted his back like she gave a shit. “Yeah, it’s got some kick. Keep drinking until you can’t feel anything anymore.”

“Stop touching me,” he wheezed, then finished the entire thing like she said. Once the feeling of his throat being stripped raw had dulled, it wasn’t that bad. His burp scorched his nose a second time. “Fucking hell. How many of these have you had?”

“Nine or ten. Lost count.” Yoruichi’s nose wrinkled. “If you’re in the bathroom later, can you poke those chunks in the basin down the drain? I didn’t want to get it under my nails.”

“So much for shinigami nobility,” Grimmjow said, licking his teeth. “Shut up about your vomit and tell me who’s here tonight. Anyone I should care about?” Shifting on his cushion, he pressed his back against the cool plaster of the wall and stared at the milling guests and the seated ones. It was a mess of Christmas-themed gigai costumes, but he thought he might recognise a face or two. Maybe. He’d been in a bad way after the Wandenreich had been cleared out of Soul Society. Hard to remember much through all the poison. The ash-haired tall girl looked familiar, maybe. Yoruichi followed his gaze and nodded, wiping a drip of milky alcohol off her lip.

“You remember Isane? Her squad healed us after Nel dragged us out of that quincy’s ball trap. He sure was pleased with himself, wasn’t he? Til you ripped out his heart.” She took another audible gulp from her cup. “And for like five minutes after that. Some men, you just can’t shut them up.”

“He ain’t talking anymore.” He pointed to a pair sitting at one of the small tables further down. “The redhead with the face tattoos, and the dark-haired one.”

“Abarai Renji and his captain, Kuchiki Byakuya. I had to give back a lot of blackmail material to get them here, let me tell you. Renji is a good friend of Ichigo’s.” Yoruichi snorted rudely. “Byakuya, on the other hand, almost killed him when they first met. I think they’d laugh about it now, if Byakuya could still convey emotion without his face shattering like old china.”

“Like I care,” Grimmjow replied, despite knowing that he did, actually, care a fair bit. But fuck Kurosaki and his whimpering. What was the big deal? Redhead confesses feelings, Kurosaki realises he doesn’t fuck women, the end. Pretty cut and dry. Nothin’ to hide over. “Hey, Yoruichi. You fuck women, right?”

“Not for a while. Hang on, I’m getting another drink.” Grabbing his shoulder with a hand like an iron clamp, she hauled herself up on unsteady legs. It gave Grimmjow a direct and up-close view of her red thong, which matched her white-trimmed miniskirt. At least her tits weren’t falling out anymore. Small fuckin’ mercies. She grabbed his empty cup and headed for the kitchen, her long purple hair swaying. China-face was frowning at her in disapproval. Maybe he was Kurosaki’s type, Grimmjow thought broodingly. Pretty, dark hair, looked like he’d be smart. And strong, probably, if he’d almost managed to kill Kurosaki in the past. Or maybe the tattoo-face beside him was a better pick. He looked like he’d fight dirty if he needed to. Just the right amount of bastard for someone like Kurosaki, but he had to be someone important. Lieutenant, from the look of it. Hard to get there unless you could kiss ass when it counted. A good mix, if he fucked guys.

Was that the problem then? Humans generally fucked to breed, didn’t they? Deciding to ask Yoruichi when she came back, Grimmjow frowned out at the room so hard he absolutely missed the soft impact of a round ass hitting the empty cushion next to him.

“Oh, hello.” Inoue Orihime looked as surprised by her daring as he probably did. “Could I sit here?”

“Already are.” He thought about it. “Bitch.”

“Well, yes,” she agreed, “but it’d be nice if you didn’t try to kill me over it, and—and I heard you’re Urahara-san’s bitch these days, so maybe that makes us a pair.”

Grimmjow stiffened. “You fucking what?” Turning to glare at her, he saw the mostly-empty cup nestled in her hands and the tipsy flush taking up half her face. The rest was obscured by a sagging Santa hat with a white pompom and bell on the tip. He was pretty sure it was Kisuke’s. Settling back sullenly, he grabbed the cup out of her hands and tossed back what remained in it. “Get it off your chest, tits. I haven’t got all night.”

“I was kind of…hoping for a Christmas wish. For Kurosaki-kun.”

Fuck it. Of course she was.

“No.”

“I have something to pay you with!” A paper-wrapped bundle was placed in his lap. There were little trees and stars all over the green paper. “It’s nothing much, but—”

“If I open this and it’s a scarf, I’m gonna burn this house down.” She took the package back immediately, looking crestfallen.

“It’s blue,” she said after a moment. She was looking straight ahead into the party room. “I tried to get wool the exact colour of your hair, but it was a little hard to tell. I should have asked Kurosaki-kun to check.” Her eyes lowered, shimmering wetly as her fingertips dug into the paper. “I think he would have known if I had it right or wrong. I’m sorry to be a bother, Grimmjow-san. It’s all I seem to do lately.”

Fuuuuuck.

“All right, what the hell is it? What do you want? Spit it out.” Like a drunken, slutty angel of Christmas, Yoruichi took that exact moment to return, a large cup in each hand that looked full to the brim with whatever brew they’d made in that kitchen. He snagged the proffered one and held it away while she sat heavily back on her cushion, knees hitched up and apart, her hair straggling out of its ponytail. Great, annoying tits on both sides.

“Orihime?” Yoruichi said, focussing on the girl. Her smile was sharp. “What are you doing with Grimmjow? He’s not good company.” Taking a huge slug of her drink, she passed the cup across to the sniffling girl on his other side. Somehow, his crotch came out unscathed as the drink changed hands. “Grimmjow, why were you asking me about fucking women? No offence, but I don’t think it’s up your proverbial alley. Or to be more accurate, I don’t think you’re interested in getting up theirs. But go on, shoot. I’m drunk and full of wisdom.” Grabbing his thigh for balance, she watched Orihime busily gulp down her drink like she was trying to drown herself. It was probably a bad time to ask about that shit, but Grimmjow didn’t exactly care about the situation anymore.

“I need to say something first!” Orihime was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, still gasping from the shitload of spiked nog she’d just sucked down. “Before I lose my nerve!” When Yoruichi just leaned over curiously, sharp elbow jammed into his thigh and bearing all her weight, Grimmjow waved Orihime on impatiently. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Grimmjow-san, I want you to fall in love with Kurosaki-kun. Or at least give him…” she counted on her fingers for a moment, “seven hundred orgasms!”

Grimmjow stared.

Yoruichi stared.

And around them, having heard the tail-end of that statement, the whole roomful of shinigami stared.

“Hah! Orgasms?!” Yoruichi hooted, and slammed her entire face into Grimmjow’s crotch to muffle her drunk bitch laughter. “Now _that’s_ the gift that keeps on giving!”

“Who’s giving out orgasms?” asked a short, dark-haired boy standing by the window. “I want some.”

“Rukia, you get plenty.” Face-tattoos looked worried. Beside him, china-face was looking a little glassy-eyed. “Sorry, Captain.”

“I’ve never slept with an arrancar,” said a strawberry blonde with huge tits, a finger tipped thoughtfully to her lips. Her shiny black belt was pulled so tight around her red Santa minidress she looked like she was about to split in half. “Do they have the right equipment for it?”

“Most certainly,” Kisuke said seriously, nodding over his cup. “In fact, Grimmjow here is especially well-endowed.” Seven shinigami men all sat up straighter at their tables, while an interested female murmur filtered through the room. The slender boy with the pointy head necked his drink and started marching over, where face-tattoos grabbed his ankle.

Grimmjow felt cornered for the first time in a long, long time. Everyone was looking at his dick. Yoruichi’s face was _on_ his dick. Trying to look like none of the conversation meant a damn thing to him, he calmly maintained unblinking eye contact with a middle distance and swallowed half his drink in one go. It burned like fuck, but like hell was he getting embarrassed around those assholes. Grabbing Yoruichi’s ponytail, he yanked her face out of his crotch. She was crying with laughter. He let her ponytail go and tried not to wince when she landed again.

“I’m very sorry.” Orihime had flushed crimson and buried her face in her hands, darting Grimmjow quick, guilty looks out the corner of her eyes where her fingers parted. “I got excited and said that too loudly.”

“No fucking shit,” Grimmjow muttered.

“But I’m serious, you know. I really wish you’d—”

“You hate him now or something?” he interrupted, watching her gasp and jerk like she’d been touched with an electrical wire. “You got your pick of these shinigami assholes to shovel your bullshit Christmas wishes on and you chose the arrancar he can’t stand? Fuck off.” Shoving Yoruichi off his lap, he jumped to his feet, leaving Orihime to scramble after him.

“No, wait! I’m not just—he talks about you all the time!” Soft hands grabbed the bend of his elbow and tugged, trying to stop him heading out. Punching her in the face wouldn’t end well in the present company, but it was tempting to do it anyway. Orihime’s big grey eyes were leaking tears all down her face. “He’s not _happy_ anymore, Grimmjow-san. I-I-I—“ She broke off and swallowed loudly, exhaling hard. “I can’t stand it. I can’t. So I wracked my brains for what he needs, and all I could come up with is you.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop talking.” Jerking his arm out of her grip, feeling his temper fraying dangerously short, Grimmjow ignored every set of nosy eyes staring at them. This wasn’t how Kurosaki would want things to go. Did any of them even know…? And why the fuck did _he_ care? Kurosaki thought he was a brainless thug, some mindless hollow who only knew how to kill. The bitch was way off the mark. He headed for the door, finally free.

“Someone who’ll tell him when he’s stupid,” she said, her voice quaking. “Someone strong. Someone who’ll argue with him. Someone who will always track him down, who only looks at him. Someone different, and still the same.” Her voice hitched. “Someone who pushes him to be strong, who doesn’t need saving. That one…that one most of all. You come alive when you see him, you know. Everyone knows it. But you don’t rely on him. You don’t have to.”

Grimmjow couldn’t think. His heart was pounding. The fuck was she saying? Turning to look at her fully, he saw her absolutely sobbing her guts out in near-silence, watching him like he was some kind of last hope for a miracle. Delusional. All of them. All this mess for a bunch of useless emotions? She was blaming herself. Kurosaki was blaming himself. The rest of them, trying to meddle and interfere and gossip and stare.

“I don’t give a shit,” Grimmjow said, as coldly and viciously as he could. “About Kurosaki, about you, about any of this. So for the last fucking time, _leave me out of it._ ”

He didn’t stick around to watch her face crumple. Giving Kisuke the full force of his glare, he watched the shady fuck finally sigh and nod, his shoulders slumping. Beside him, Isshin had no expression at all. Only Yoruichi was still smiling. Well, they could all go and get fucked, he thought flatly as he reached for the door. None of it was his damn—

The door slammed open with the force of another hand on the other side, putting him almost nose to nose with Kurosaki in a gust of freezing air. Breathing hard, dusted with snow and with a half-closed shop door letting in all the cold air behind him, he stared at Grimmjow with the lit-up brown gaze of someone who’d just won the jackpot. Shoulders heaving with every breath, braced on either side of the door frame, Kurosaki’s mouth finally curled in a bastard smile. The same fuckin’ smile he’d given him that first fight. Expectant, challenging, demanding. And far too fuckin’ confident for the circumstances.

“You’re gonna let me apologise,” Kurosaki said. There were snowflakes in his eyelashes. “And then you’re gonna forgive me.”

“Bull _shit_ I am,” Grimmjow said hotly, his fists clenching on reflex. “Keep your distance, shinigami. I’m not some—” _something you want_ “—some Christmas present fucking sent to make your shitty life better!” Shouldering his way around him, he jumped down and yanked his boots on, stalking toward the blizzard that was fighting its way inside. Coat flaring out behind him, icy air yanking at his hair, Grimmjow breathed it in and told himself he didn’t want anything to do with the asshole standing behind him. It was all just shinigami meddling. All of it. They didn’t know him. Inoue fucking Orihime was just a delusional bitch pandering to Kurosaki’s self-pity, he didn’t need a single—

The shoji door slammed shut.

“Come on, Grimmjow, I even went home and showered,” Kurosaki said, sounding pissed. He hadn’t gone into the party. Instead, he jumped down off the platform and darted down one of the other candy aisles to shut the outside door. In the dimness of the closed shop, he was a black and orange outline standing between Grimmjow and freedom. “And I think I have frostbite! But I came here anyway, even though I didn’t want to.” He hesitated. “You have no idea how much I didn’t want to. But I hate that I was an asshole out there. I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

“Don’t care. Move.” Even if he had to plough straight through Kurosaki’s thinned-out human body, Grimmjow was getting outside. Unbelievably, Kurosaki’s chin lifted like he was ready to throw down.

“No. You’re gonna have to move me first, and I don’t think you wanna come that close.” He pointed up at the ceiling right above his head. “So maybe we should just talk instead.”

Pinned neatly above the entrance to the shop was a familiar sprig of thin, unlovely green leaves with white berries nestled between them.

Mistletoe.

“It’s tradition,” Kurosaki said, echoing his words right back at him. “But I’ll let you pussy out, if you want. Just ‘cause it’s Christmas.” Crossing his arms over his long black coat, he looked almost like a shinigami again. Then his gaze softened into something warmer. “Grimmjow, come on. Just let me say I’m sorry.”

Grimmjow knew he had three choices: ignore the mistletoe to shove Kurosaki on his ass and leave, acknowledge the mistletoe challenge and kiss the asshole, or stand and listen. Like he’d been listening to everyone for the past couple of days as the gullible idiot Kisuke said he was.

Or there was option four.

“Answer me something first: why does everyone keep trying to give me to you?”

Kurosaki’s eyes widened. “What? How? Scratch that, who?”

“Kisuke, when he tricked me with that fuckin’ weed! Then your cunning old man, who knew I’d come looking for you if he put the idea in my head.” He stabbed a black-gloved finger at the door to the house. “And just now, your pretty little ginger cheerleader in there just told me it’d make you real happy if I fucked your brains out for the next two years straight.” He grit his teeth. “That _I’d_ make you happy.”

There was a dawning play of emotion in Kurosaki’s face as Grimmjow spoke, from surprise to shock to deep, deep embarrassment and shame. The steel went out of his shoulders in one long slump, and he turned to lean against the doorframe of the closed shop. Fingers raked his neatly combed spikes back, sending them into disarray.

“Shit. Listen, forget about them. I think they mean well, but they go really weird when they’re concerned.” He gave Grimmjow a tight, unhappy smile and slid away from the door. He gestured to it with a halfhearted wave. “Sorry. I’m just making your life hard at this point.”

His way out was right there for the taking. One open door, one quick duck under a stupid bunch of leaves and he could get out of the city limits. One garganta and they wouldn’t be able to poke or prod or manipulate him again. Grimmjow could taste the dry, arid air of Hueco Mundo already. He could smell the sunless stretch of dunes for miles in every direction. All he had to do was leave.

“Is it true?” Grimmjow asked, feeling the ghost of fingers still catching at his elbow. Kurosaki’s head tilted a little.

“Well, yeah, from the sounds of it they’ve done nothing but terrorise you because of me.” He punched his hands down into his coat pockets. “I’ll be fine, one way or another. Inoue and I will get back to normal eventually, I think. I don’t know why they thought they had to start harassing you.”

“Not what I was asking.” Taking one long stride forward, then another, he didn’t stop until he was close enough to feel Kurosaki’s offensively minty breath touching his throat. “Would having me make you happy?”

Grimmjow had the singularly thrilling experience of seeing Kurosaki’s whole face turn a sickly shade of grey, then flush a terrifically blotchy bright red. The question had done something to him. Made him think something. Or imagine something, at the very least. Maybe it was something disgusting. Grimmjow didn’t think so; his gut said he’d just driven a metaphorical sword straight through the heart of the matter. Who knew Inoue Orihime actually had pretty good instincts?

“Of course not,” Kurosaki said evenly, like it was still safe to brush it off with words. “I know you’re pretty new to this world and humans generally, but being gay doesn’t mean I’ll jump at any guy just because they’re guys. There’s…” he seemed to think about it, “types. People have types.”

Grimmjow nodded. “Sounds fair. But I’m your type.”

“You don’t know that.” Kurosaki crossed his arms tightly. “Just leave it alone, Grimmjow.” Leave _me_ alone, his brown gaze said, like Kurosaki ever knew exactly what he wanted or needed. Nodding to himself, Grimmjow tugged the edges of his coat into place and headed for the way out of the shop. Kurosaki pretended the entire time not to watch him from the corner of his eye, shoulders stiffening with every step. He had a hand on the doorframe when Kurosaki blurted, “It doesn’t matter if you’re my type. We don’t like each other.”

“Sure we do,” Grimmjow replied, and pulled the door. “But if you’re convinced, not much I can do about it.” Kurosaki almost threw himself against the door to hold it shut. His jaw was tight and there was a tremble of pure tension running through his arms, but the eyes he levelled at Grimmjow were pure adrenaline and—dread?

“Bullshit. You punched me in the face yesterday for a peck on the lips.”

“No shit,” Grimmjow said. “I was expecting a fight, and you kissed me instead.”

“And then you broke my jaw.”

“And then I—what else was I supposed to do?”

Kurosaki’s eyes narrowed. “Ask why I kissed you, and then stay for the explanation? See, this is why it would never work. You’re a hotheaded pain in the ass—”

“I’m not—”

“You are! You always are!”

“Yeah, with _you_! That’s fuckin’ different! You always make things different!”

“Nothing’s different!” Kurosaki yelled back, grabbing the front of his coat and pulling. “You’re always around, snapping at me, following me, demanding the end of that fight from years ago when it’s already over! I don’t want to fight you again!”

“Why not?!”

“Because you’ll make me kill you!” Kurosaki yelled in his face, his voice cracking. Teeth clenched around the rest of his secrets, eyes burning into his, Grimmjow watched his favourite shinigami stare through him to a future he wouldn’t allow to happen. “You wanted it last time. You would’ve forced my hand. But I’m not ready to do that, and I sure as hell don’t want to die. But if I had to choose, I wouldn’t kill you. I can’t.” He swallowed and looked away, misery etched in every line of his face. “So call me pathetic. Call me a coward. Say whatever—”

“You _do_ like me,” Grimmjow said with realisation, his chest glowing with triumph. “Why’d you gotta take the long way to admitting it?”

Kurosaki’s eyes rounded. “What? No! Will you just listen? I’m trying to—”

“Bore my ass off,” Grimmjow interrupted, grabbing his face between two hands. His cheeks were cold even through his gloves. Squeezing his hands together, he ruined Kurosaki’s desperate expression by smushing it up. “I’m your type. You want to kiss me. You like my chest.” Kurosaki’s eyes shot down to the skin on display and closed in mortification. “You don’t want to kill me if you win our battle—fuckin’ unlikely, just between you and me—because then I wouldn’t be around anymore. I piss you off, but an hour ago you told me all your darkest secrets for fun. You’ll stick your sword through my guts but you don’t want me to be angry at you. Face it, shinigami: you’ve got it bad for me.”

“I don’t,” Kurosaki almost moaned. He was looking pretty defeated. “My karma isn’t anywhere near that terrible. I’ve done good things with my life!”

Part of Grimmjow wanted to act insulted, maybe start an argument about it all, but Kurosaki was standing inside his grip like a defeated, pliable handful of cold skin and clean hair, holding onto his wrists with fingers that were loose and not trying to fight him. Not even a bit.

“Maybe it’s time to do something bad instead,” Grimmjow suggested, feeling sneaky and pleased when Kurosaki just scrunched up his face. It made it all the more satisfying when he leaned in and pressed his lips to the chilly, minty mouth caged between his hands. He kept it short and direct, pulling back with a satisfied little smack to gauge his reaction. “That’s for breaking your jaw.”

Mouth soft and surprised, Kurosaki just stood there for a long few seconds trying to sort the kiss out. He couldn’t seem to do it all that well, because after another moment he inhaled a long, careful sort of breath and tried to pull Grimmjow’s hands away from his face.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. You said before you’re not interested in—that, and I respect it.”

“That?”

“You know, sex and stuff.”

“Kissing isn’t sex, dumbass.” Grimmjow had seen enough television to be sure of that. “Besides, I only said that because hollows don’t get close enough to fuck each other. It’s an easy way to get yourself killed.” The earned him a long, considering look. “Listen, dumbass: I’m starting to like this world a bit. You’re all insane and you fuckin’ drive each _other_ insane thinking about feelings and shit, and I’d rather die than listen to those assholes back in the house talk about theirs, but you’re…” He tried to think of the right way to say it. He was getting better at saying things the way he intended, but damn if it wasn’t still a mystery sometimes. “If I’m your type, then you’re mine. So I want to do all that dumb shit with you. Still want to beat you senseless, still want you to slice me every which way, but I want to...” Come on dickhead, don’t fail now! “I want to be able to do it every day, whether it’s fighting or fucking. So maybe we don’t have to kill each other.”

Kurosaki stared at him. He stared for a damn long time, actually. Suddenly self-conscious about his honesty, Grimmjow dropped his hands to the black wool covering his shoulders, then down to his biceps. Then he just plain let go altogether. Maybe he should just leave. Kurosaki might be a huge gay mess but that didn’t mean he actually wanted him just because he was attracted. Hell, he was still weird and sad over healing tits back in the house, wasn’t he? Why was he even thinking about his feelings? Fuck!

Grimmjow started to take a cautious step back but stopped himself all at once, feeling his eyes widen. Kurosaki had taken his hand, lifting it to his mouth. Then, slowly and carefully, he bit the gloved tip of his middle finger and started tugging, little by little, until he could remove the entire glove. Then he followed suit with the other one, leaving Grimmjow’s hands bare. Turning them both palm up, he squinted down at them. The fingertips he trailed lightly across his skin made the back of his neck prickle.

“You’re starting to lose some of your sword calluses.” Brown eyes lifted to his. “You haven’t been fighting anyone else, have you? Just doing all this work with Urahara, going back and forth to help Las Noches.” His mouth twitched a little. Grimmjow watched a fingertip trace his lifeline, circle back and run up the curve of his thumb. “Bet you’re feeling a bit pent-up. Christmas is a bad time to go without the things you want most.”

Why was his heart hammering again? It was just Kurosaki and his fingers. Just Kurosaki and that infuriating little half smile of his ticking up the corner of his mouth, making hints for things he’d kind of started to give up on in his head. The violent gratitude that little teasing promise elicited was fuckin’ embarrassing, and he’d never in a thousand years admit to feeling it, but he had no other way to explain why he ducked his head forward and kissed him hard, feeling that soft-warm-wet give of his lips again as they opened in surprise.

Thing was, neither of them stopped right away that time. Kurosaki’s hands even quietly slid under the edges of his red coat and skimmed their way up his sides, warming his hands off his skin as he traced hard muscle and scarred skin alike. It felt nice. More than nice, really, but Grimmjow was preoccupied by the way the mouth pressed to his was moving back, pulling away and tilting and finding his again. It wasn’t just one kiss. It was ten. It was twenty. It was Kurosaki’s attention all for him, his warm breath, his careful tongue, his sleepy gaze. It was all of the infatuating electricity of a good battle, but all they were doing was standing there in a darkened shop, touching skin and tasting each other.

It was fucking surreal, and Grimmjow wanted it. It surprised him how much he wanted it; like being the centre of Kurosaki’s entire universe for just a few minutes was all he’d ever been after. The battles, the acknowledgement, the blood and sweat and viciousness and laughter, all of it made his soul sing, there was no denying that. But it didn’t have to be just that, and until a moment ago he hadn’t even realised he could have more. That he could have both.

When Kurosaki finally broke the kiss to breathe, his mouth and nose pushed against Grimmjow’s cheek, it felt totally normal to slide his arms around his back, feeling the rough wool of his coat under his fingertips. What was he wearing under it? There didn’t seem to be much extra padding between the coat and his spine. Grimmjow moved his hands curiously up his back until he was completely distracted by the drumming thunder of Kurosaki’s heartbeat under his palm. Fuck, he was really worked up.

“You dying?” Grimmjow asked, wondering if he could bite his ear a little without getting yelled at. “I feel pretty good.”

“I’m just having a quiet breakdown,” Kurosaki said, still panting a little. “Give me a second to work through it.”

“Want me to let you go?”

“It’s okay.”

“I can let you go,” Grimmjow insisted, because he was trying that whole caring thing out. Fingers curled tightly in the belt loops of his reindeer trousers.

“Do not, under any circumstances, let me go right now.”

“Okay,” he said, and nipped the top of his ear. It was cold, so he gave it a lick to warm it up. Kurosaki made a noise like steam escaping a kettle. “How long does a breakdown take, anyway? I want to kiss you some more. And then make you eat some different shit and see if it makes you more delicious. I hate peppermint.”

“Oh my god,” Kurosaki whispered, but he didn’t think it was directed at him. Then, “You taste like rum. And cinnamon, I think. It’s…nice. Festive.”

“I drank a lot of Yoruichi’s Christmas brew.”

“It shows.” Stirring a little, Kurosaki pulled back to stare at him. “I should go into the party. Say hi to everyone. Maybe…talk to Inoue.” He looked over at the door. “Are you going to leave?” He didn’t sound bothered by it, but then Kurosaki never really did when the only person shit mattered to was himself. Grimmjow was getting pretty good at picking up on that. Maybe all that neurotic human exposure was teaching him a few things.

“Thought about it, but that mistletoe is still hanging here and you’re pretty frisky. Safer to stay here, I reckon.”

“No it’s not,” Kurosaki said frankly. He chewed his lip for a second, then stepped away. The air between their bodies felt chillingly cold by comparison. His smile was tiny, crooked and a little disbelieving, but it was real. And Grimmjow had put it there. “Come in with me then. I won’t be long.”

“They’re drunk as hell,” Grimmjow warned as he was tugged back up to the lacquered platform leading into the house, pulling his boots off while Kurosaki did the same. “And Kisuke told them all I had a huge dick.”

“Do you?” Kurosaki asked as he shrugged out of his coat, laying it on the pile with all the others. “Wait, how does he know?”

Grimmjow tried to think of an answer, but he was completely distracted by the perfect sky blue colour of Kurosaki’s shirt. It was just a long-sleeved buttoned thing, but the colour made his orange hair stand out like candle flame. There was an intentional button missed at his throat, showing a triangle of winter-pale skin. His healthy tan had faded away with the cold weather, and for some reason Grimmjow thought long and hard about putting his mouth against that little flash of skin. It probably tasted clean, like soap. Or maybe a bit salty.

“Grimmjow?” Kurosaki said, sounding spooked. He looked down at himself. “Well, I wasn’t going to dress as a Santa Claus like you. I don’t have a costume.”

“I’m a reindeer! How hard is it—”

“You’re not a reindeer!” Kurosaki said hotly. “You’re a guy wearing Santa clothes. You’re not a reindeer unless you have antlers!” Reaching over, he pulled Grimmjow’s coat open wide and felt around for the lining pocket that concealed his embarrassing accessory. Fumbling a little, slapping Grimmjow as he tried to shove him away, Kurosaki finally yanked out the brown headband, bending the fuzzy brown antlers into place. He held it up expectantly.

“Put it on.”

“You come near me with that and I’m gonna snap it and you in half.”

“Put it on or I’m gonna fake sob my way into that party full of shinigami. I hope you’ve made your peace with this life.”

“You devious fuck,” Grimmjow said, impressed. He bent at the waist. “All right, give it. But don’t fuck up my hairstyle.”

“This is a hairstyle?” Kurosaki murmured to himself, sliding the bands carefully behind his ears. “Okay, stand up straight.” He grinned his wicked bastard grin. “You make a sexy reindeer.”

“I’m a holiday-enslaved beast of burden,” Grimmjow countered as he felt around his head for it, but he stood a little taller, put his chest out a bit. “But I make it look good. Let’s go.”

The shoji door opened to reveal Kisuke, Yuzu, Isshin and Inoue fucking Orihime all standing with their ears tipped toward the door, smiling at each other like four goofy fucks in red and green. They screamed and jumped backwards as the door cracked against the frame, then again as Grimmjow lunged at tits and the midget, throwing one over each shoulder. Eavesdropping little shitheads.

“Snooping assholes!” He stepped up into the air until his antlers grazed the ceiling. Both of them howled like they were dying.

“I’m going to vomit!” Inoue pleaded over his shoulders. “Please, somebody help me!”

“We have to help ourselves, Orihime-chan!” Yuzu said stoutly. “My glasses are reinforced reishi. I bet if I smash them and stab him in the femoral artery—” She didn’t get to finish because Grimmjow tossed them both onto the tatami in a heap. Fuck bleeding out like a fresh carcass. If that kid was a Kurosaki then she probably meant every word. He landed with a thump beside them and put his foot on Orihime’s springy, pillowy chest. She blinked up at him with wide grey eyes. There was still a brilliant pink haze across her cheeks from all the alcohol she’d drunk.

“Yes?” she asked, her mouth curling on an uncertain smile.

“What else do you know?”

“Well, bunches of things, really.” Her lips pursed a little. “Like in retrospect, if Kurosaki ever had romantic feelings for me, he would have probably said so before we fought Yhwach together. In case we died, you know. Or even after it. I mean, why would you wait?” she frowned a little. “Why did you wait?”

“I only just figured it out!” She reached up for his hand and he gave it, pointedly ignoring everyone watching them. When she was standing he yanked down her borrowed Santa hat so it was straight, almost covering her eyes. The boy from earlier hustled over and pushed him away. For some reason he was wearing a blue elf-lookin’ dress with little curl-toed slippers. “Watch yourself.”

“You watch yourself,” the boy said, eyes sparking crossly. “Prancer-san. Inoue, are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine! This is just play-biting, you know?” Orihime smiled and gave Grimmjow’s arm a smack, like a salesman hitting the bonnet of a new car. “You’ve gotta socialise puppies this way or they’ll savage someone without realising when they get bigger!”

“Oh, I see,” the boy said, clasping his chin and nodding like a scholar. “Renji could use some of that. He’s been a bit bitey lately. My breasts are sore.” Orihime clucked in sympathy. Grimmjow, on the other hand, was staring at elf-boy’s chest. He reached out and gave it a poke. Sure enough.

“Huh,” he said, corrected. “Bet you’re a decent fighter without all that bounce in the way.”

“You just touched my nipple,” Rukia said, nonplussed. “And—was that a compliment?”

Was it? Fuck! Shrugging, he backed away from the two women. Hell with staying in that conversation. Making shinigami feel good about themselves wasn’t exactly his hobby. He looked around for Kurosaki and immediately felt an unholy amount of breast hit him from both sides. He looked between a tall woman with big tits and red-blonde hair, and his least favourite ninja housecat.

“Grimmjow, this is Matsumoto Rangiku,” Yoruichi said with vicious enjoyment, slurping out of a new cup. Her golden eyes were blown wide like a cat sighting its prey. “She’s single and open-minded. Do you have any arrancar friends?”

“They’re all women,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Except for Rudbornn, who’s more like a glorified vasto lorde.” He had a sudden thought. “He can make clones of himself.”

Rangiku actually nuzzled her chin on his shoulder. “Are they handsome like you?”

Don’t punch anyone, Grimmjow’s last survival instinct begged him.

“Definitely not,” Yoruichi and Kurosaki said in unison. Grimmjow whipped his head around to see Kurosaki carefully extricating Rangiku the huge-titted shinigami lieutenant from his side.

“Come on, Rangiku-san,” Kurosaki said kindly, tugging her along with him. The look he shot Grimmjow over his shoulder was full of laughter. “I hear Hisagi-san is—”

“Like a younger brother,” Rangiku bemoaned loudly. Across the room, a spiky-haired guy put his head in his hands. “And shinigami are so _boring._ Even I’m becoming boring! Me!” She tried, in an absolutely shitfaced manner, to get herself out of Kurosaki’s grip. “Let go! Captain!”

“Nope,” said a white-haired kid in the back corner. He tossed back his entire cup. “Zaraki, you do it.” A big shinigami up the back with a face like an unsealed road just grumbled something into his sake.

Grimmjow thought fast. If the woman got rowdy then Kurosaki would end up delayed. Without looking, he grabbed Yoruichi around the waist where she was still listing a little against his arm.

“You said it’s been a while since you fucked a woman, right?” He jerked his chin at Rangiku, who was still cursing the vanilla shinigami or something. Yoruichi’s eyebrows shot up.

“You want me to seduce Rangiku? I think she’s straight. And drunk.”

“You’re both drunk.” He squeezed her hip in a way that made her grin. “Listen, I don’t want Kurosaki staying here all night, if you get me.”

Yoruichi frowned out at the room for a moment. Then with a decisive swivel of her crooked skirt and a heaving cup of her own breasts, she took a long, bracing breath.

“I want to say you owe me for this, but I’m kind of digging the challenge here. Rangiku has been backup on Ichimaru’s roster for so long I’m not sure she even knows how to have fun in a bedroom.” She paused. “May his reishi live on in us all. Circle of life, yadda yadda, amen.” With a hard slap on his ass, she swayed her way over to Rangiku and Kurosaki, where he was trying to keep her hands off the belt of his neat black pants.

Free at last, Grimmjow thought about escaping back to the dark solitude of the shop when two new women—girls, actually—grabbed him and started driving him back toward the far wall of the giant rectangular room.

“We have to talk,” Karin said flatly. On his other side, Yuzu was pushing her glasses up with her middle finger.

“Yeah, ballsack.”

“Your insults don’t rate for shit,” he told her, too interested in where it was all going to be angry. Two midgets trying to strong-arm him? Hilarious. But they were Kurosaki’s sisters, so it meant not ripping arms and legs off. Not right away, at least. “You gotta get creative. Adjectives. Combos. Study your target and what their values are, then hit ‘em where it hurts.”

Yuzu gave him a sidelong glance. “You…over-brushed stray?”

Fuck. Grimmjow didn’t blink. “Manicured toddler.”

“Sleigh drop-out.”

“Spiritually neutered.”

“Orphan!”

“Motherless shit!”

“Monster!”

“Human!”

Yuzu burst into tears and tried to hug him. Grimmjow laughed and smothered her head against his chest. Six out of ten at best, he thought as she cried, still yelling about what a bastard he was. Karin, staring at her sister like they weren’t related, just sat on a nearby cushion and grabbed one of Yoruichi’s half-empty cups of nog. Grimmjow walked Yuzu backwards until he could sit on the next one, putting her on Orihime’s spare seat from earlier. He wasn’t in the business of beating the shit out of anything weaker than him unless they came for him with intent. Kurosaki’s sisters were freakish little carbon copies of him, in their own way. Like someone took him and cut him down the center. Couple of sixteen year old girls trying to mingle with the big guns. Well, he could mind them for a while. Not like he had anything else to do while Kurosaki paid his respects.

“What are your intentions toward Ichi-nii?” Karin asked after a moment, knocking back a mouthful of old liquor. She didn’t even wince. “I saw you punch him yesterday for kissing you.”

“Mind your business,” he said irritably. “Heard of a thing called context? No? It’s because you don’t have any.” A loud, obnoxious snort was his only immediate reply. Karin was the tough one, he reminded himself. She had to be, since Yuzu was snotting on his reindeer sleeve. “I got tricked yesterday, that’s all. Not your brother’s fault.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“He knows.”

“Are you just taking advantage of him?”

“Fuck off,” Grimmjow snapped, his patience draining fast. “You don’t know him half as well as you think you do if you’re asking a question like that.” Out the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired girl waver a little. With a clench of her young jaw, she gulped out of her cup again and looked away.

“You can’t make him sad again. Whatever you do, you can’t make him sad again.” The cup was carefully put back down on the ground. Scowling into her knees, Karin wrapped her arms around her legs and screwed up her whole face. “It’s been the worst few months ever. Worse than when he lost his powers, because at least he chose that for good reasons. This time? It was like he’d killed someone. It was like—it was like _Mom_ again, except I was here this time to understand it. We both were. And Yuzu cries all the time, she cries at beer commercials, but this time it’s been different.” Her arms squeezed her legs almost up into an accordion shape. “I feel hopeful tonight. I hate it, because it’s because of you and I don’t even know if you care.” She grit her teeth. “Dad tries to brush it off, but we all know Ichi-nii has been feeling really low. He says it’s because he disappointed Orihime-chan, but we know it’s because he thought he was going to be all alone. A shinigami-fullbring-visored-quincy, sure, but gay? He laughed about it.” Her thin mouth trembled, tucking in between her teeth. Her glare out into the room was fierce.

Another test, Grimmjow decided. Human cares too much about sibling. Except it was Kurosaki, and it was about him. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would mean a damn. Not without lying, and there was no point in that. So he said nothing.

“Well,” Yuzu said from his other side, sniffing back a noseful of snot, “Ichi-nii is smiling. Even if it’s for a while, he’s smiling! It’s Christmas and Grimmjow-san isn’t punching anyone and we’re all happy and warm. It’s snowing outside and the lights are bright, and—and stop being so fucking negative, Karin! It’s a good night! Stop thinking the worst.”

“It’s safer that way,” Karin said, but her face was thawing. Grimmjow silently agreed with her. She reached out with a sweaty little hand and grabbed his wrist. “I’m not ungrateful, you know.”

“Stop touching me.” The grip on his wrist became a middle finger hovering in front of his face. He liked it a lot better. “Don’t worry so much. Arrancar are pretty simple. We’re all born with something that makes the hole in us satisfied. When we see it, we go after it.”

“That’s what she said,” Kisuke chimed in, sitting right on top of his calves. He weighed a ton and his ass was way too warm. “But go on. Even I want to hear this part.” Grimmjow levelled him a volcanic glare, but it was worth nothing. Kisuke had a bottle of…something in his hand, labelled with a skull like a mystery drink. He passed it to Grimmjow, who took a swig because why the hell not? “Go on. You’re in a safe space.”

“It’s true, Grimm-san,” Yuzu whispered, leaning into his arm. Fucking nicknames already. He took a massive slug of burning hellfire.

“Aizen thought it’d be great marketing if he picked ten espada that matched his idea of a personality quiz. An espada for every aspect of death. Old age, madness, sacrifice, blah blah blah. I was destruction. Mine, something else’s, who the fuck knows. But the point is, we were all made to believe a shinigami knew why we’d become hollows in the first place. A shinigami should know what we’re missing, right? Wrong. Aizen was a cocksore. Whatever reins he thought could control us, he wanted to use. Hollow are just hollow. We want the thing we lost when we died as humans, and nobody knows what it is anymore. Not even us.” Grimmjow shrugged roughly. “We can evolve all we want, but the dominant soul in us, that thing that made me who I am today? I don’t know a damn thing about it. Flashes, sometimes. Smells I feel like I’ve known before. Eye shapes. Voices. None of it really matches up.” Karin handed him her cup of second-hand booze. Kisuke did the same. He took a long gulp from each. “Kurosaki is the only thing that ever made any sense. Only thing that clicked so hard even my wasted soul heard it. So for a while, I thought I had to kill him. Maybe I’d figure out something about myself. Then he kicked my ass across the sand, screaming about his feelings.”

“Did he make you doubt Aizen’s plans?” Kisuke asked. For once, he was just a shopkeeper in a cheap red Santa outfit, his hat missing and his eyes honest. “What was it for you that changed things?”

“Hell of a question to ask.”

“Humour me.”

If there was an answer, it had to be too fuckin’ huge to fit into words. Grimmjow looked across the room to where Kurosaki stood, his eyes scrunched into that dumb apologetic-happy smile as he spoke to his friends: people he didn’t really know beyond a few physical identifiers. Orihime, some pale-faced four-eyes, the red-head spiky ponytail with tattoos, a big guy with broad shoulders and curling brown hair. The elf boy, who was actually a malnourished shinigami woman. Vague memories said he’d impaled her once or twice. Even his old man was crushing in on the new upbeat vibe, verbally adopting them all. Kurosaki looked like he was rolling his eyes, but the sparkle in them was new. It was good.

“He cared about his friends,” Grimmjow said, watching them with unblinking eyes. “And he said so, yelling it right into my face, like it wasn’t something he had to be ashamed about.” His nose stung a little. “Never figured that out for myself til later. Made me think, you know, that an arrancar and a shinigami were just approaching the same thing from two different directions.” Shifting his legs under Kisuke’s ass, he scowled down at the nameless bottle in his hands. “Been a while since I had friends.”

“I get it now,” Kisuke said suddenly, slapping the side of his fist into his palm. “You’re an idiot! I knew there was an element of it, but I should have upped the calculation by another twelve percent at least.” Reaching forward, ignoring Grimmjow’s scowl, he patted his thigh. “Believe it or not, you’ve had friends since you pointed your sword at my nose in Hueco Mundo. You’ve had friends since Yoruichi decided you were both cats of a claw and she started stripping off in front of you. And Tessai, Ururu and Jinta, they know by now they they can trust you. You have friends.” Kisuke grabbed the bottle back and took a huge gulp. “Maybe we’re not the ones you’d choose, but we’re the one’s you’ve got.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Say thanks? Call him on his bullshit? Or maybe just point out that Kisuke had no problems using him to make Kurosaki’s life better, like he’d done the day before. Maybe he was just a friend of convenience, discarded when he wasn’t useful, the way Aizen had discarded Harribel. She’d told him that tale enough times as a warning to make it stick. Never trust a shinigami, especially not one that calls itself your friend. Grimmjow looked at Kisuke and looked away.

“Sure.”

“We’re your friends too,” Yuzu chirped, blasting through Grimmjow’s tension. “We’re _useless_! I can cook and Karin can see spirits, and Dad can…heal wounds? But mostly we’re useless!” She said it like it was a badge of pride.

“It’s pretty true,” Karin agreed drolly. “As long as you don’t eat or kill us, we’re cool. If you leave, cool. If you help us, cool. Just don’t make Ichi-nii sad and you can do anything you want.”

Grimmjow absorbed that. It sounded pretty no-strings. Better than that, it sounded like they didn’t want anything. Not a damn thing, except Kurosaki’s continued smile.

“Seems fair.” He didn’t mention Isshin’s offer to actually move in. That would have to be Kurosaki’s decision, not anyone else’s. Weird, how he was already thinking about it like he’d go along with any answer. “Long as you don’t sabotage me.”

They all made noises of dissent like they’d never, ever do such a thing. Sounded like bullshit, but whatever. It kept him quiet and calm as the girls sipped at their stolen alcohol and commented on the crowd, still sitting pressed against his arms like they didn’t have a care in the world about getting friendly with an arrancar. Maybe it was just silent testament to how far the spiritually aware thought he’d come from a hollow. Or not, because Kisuke just gave a weird sort of smile and shifted off his legs, complaining about how his alcohol had been stolen by a selfish arrancar. He walked away to embrace Yoruichi and Rangiku, who’d looked like they were about an inch from making out.

Rest in peace, he thought without mercy, ducking his head. It was a nice place to wait out the Christmas party, tucked in with two warm, dumb Kurosaki girls who loved their brother. Grimmjow sat back and watched everything develop, from the shinigami drunkenness, the fights and the general arguments with Urahara about his reticence over the years. None of it was his business, after all.

An hour later, just as they were all starting to doze, Karin suddenly said, “He’s bored now. Get his attention.” The elbow into Grimmjow’s side was sharp. Sure enough, there were shinigami milling around him but Kurosaki looked like he’d checked out ages ago. Time to go. He pushed himself to his feet, palms to the skull of each girl. They squealed but they put up with it.

Kurosaki, scanning the room with pseudo-aimless need, spotted his crooked finger and turned as red as sunset. Grimmjow just waited, because it was Christmas, and all that shit. Patience was a virtue, moderation in all things, calm was—

“You could have pulled me out of there half an hour ago,” Kurosaki said desperately, grabbing his arm and hauling him out of there and clean out into the shop entrance. In pure survival instinct Grimmjow shoved on his boots while Kurosaki threw on his coat, and then he was dragged right back out into the freezing snow. Not just into the shop, but out of it—right out into the winter night, as cold as the touch of death itself. It sure felt like it, anyway. But he let himself be tugged out into the crisp and clear night, where the wind had died and there was nothing but the threat of each other to ruin everything.

“Okay, this is nice,” Kurosaki said finally, tipping his head back and spreading his arms to the snow. “I finally feel normal. Human.”

“Good,” Grimmjow said flatly. “You did all that to yourself, you know.”

“For good reason,” Kurosaki said, like it was expected.

“No, not for good reason. Those assholes shouldn’t expect you to make them feel better just because they feel badly over your bad times.” When Kurosaki just squinted at him, he tried to paraphrase. “Just look after yourself and forget the rest of them.”

“They’re my friends. They were worried about me.” He fidgeted a little. “Not everyone could just barge in and get the truth like you did.”

“You gave it up pretty easily,” Grimmjow pointed out.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t expecting you to even care.”

“I don’t,” Grimmjow replied automatically. Kurosaki snorted softly, like he was funny. “Can we get the hell out of this place? I’m going, with or without you.”

“I’m coming,” Kurosaki said instantly, and grabbed his hand. It was smooth and warm, and it fit perfectly within his own. “But where are we going?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Well,” Kurosaki said slowly, his hand flexing inside Grimmjow’s grip, “we could go home. It’s warm there, and it’ll be a few more hours before Dad comes back.” He was looking everywhere but at Grimmjow’s face. “Just an idea.”

It sounded like a good idea. It also sounded like Kurosaki had other ideas about what to do once they got there.

“Are you gonna try to fuck me?” he asked curiously. Kurosaki jolted and swore.

“No! Do you have to be so blunt—wait, why? Were you thinking about it?”

“Not telling.” He hadn’t been, but it was funnier to watch Kurosaki’s face flash through about five different emotions over it. “Just seemed like you wanted to get me somewhere private, and humans think about sex all the time.”

“I think you should get your human facts from people who aren’t Yoruichi and Urahara. I don’t think about sex all the time.” Kurosaki gave him a sidelong glance. “I was just thinking about getting you into my room. I keep trying to picture what you’d look like on my bed and I can’t come up with anything. It’s too unrealistic.” The hand gripping his turned slack and let go. Pushing his hands down into his pockets, Kurosaki stared at the pavement as they walked. “Are you sure about this? It feels like it’s all just come out of nowhere from you.” Annoyed by the vacancy of his hand, Grimmjow wondered how to get it back.

“I see something I want, I go after it.” He shrugged. “Just never really thought about it before. Now that it’s something I can have, I want it.”

“That’s too simplistic.”

“True, though. I don’t have to analyse every little thing like you do. Figured out I like kissing you, so I’m gonna do it all the time.” Throwing his arm around Kurosaki’s shoulders, he tugged him over into his side. “Bet I’m gonna like all the other stuff, too.” Just the idea of having Kurosaki underneath him, or on top of him, wearing nothing but the winter night and Grimmjow’s own hands was enough to make his mouth water. Having his pure and undivided attention for hours, finding out what made him swear and writhe up against him, putting that glint of challenge and single-minded enjoyment back in his eyes for completely different reasons…yeah. He was definitely going to like the other stuff a lot. “You sure you want me though? Could shop around. Some of those shinigami seemed like they’d be interested.”

“I definitely want you.” A hand snaked around his back, resting just above his hip. “You’re battle crazy and a little obsessed with me, but I’ve thought about this before. You, I mean.” Kurosaki darted him a hesitant glance. “Maybe I did want to kiss you yesterday.”

“Sure kissed like you wanted to. Navigated my mask like it was nothing.” The memory of Kurosaki’s jaw angling perfectly in the instant before their lips met was still clear. “Fuck. If I’d kissed you back instead of punching you, we could have skipped all this shit and I’d be on your bed already. Wouldn’t have to wear this stupid costume.”

“I like it. You always hide your chest these days with your other black outfit.” The wind picked up around them, blowing a quiet flurry of snow with it. “I like being able to see your hollow hole. Merry Christmas to me.”

“Can see it whenever you want now,” Grimmjow told him, trying not to preen. “I’ll even let you touch it if you ask nicely.” Kurosaki didn’t reply, but the edge of his mouth picking up into a smile was clear.

“How about you live your best reindeer life and get us home a little faster? It’s pretty cold out here.” The laughter under the words wasn’t exactly mockery. Mostly it was just happy, and for that reason Grimmjow saw no problem folding Kurosaki into an easy carry across his chest, hefting his weight curiously. While he was trying to make sure his human skin could hold up under continued sonido, Kurosaki leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. Turning his head, Grimmjow chased his lips before he could pull away, catching him in a deep, warm kiss. This time, Kurosaki tasted like the sweet cinnamon of Yoruichi’s eggnog.

“Think I’m starting to like this Christmas thing,” Grimmjow confided as they parted, watching Kurosaki lick his shining lips. “Are your bones gonna explode if I sonido us back to your house?”

“No. Are you staying the night?”

Grimmjow blinked in surprise, hiding it by leaping high into the air, getting above the snow-blanketed rooftops of Karakura. He could never quite find his way on the streets, but up there everything was clear. “If you want me to.”

Kurosaki looked uncomfortable. “Don’t feel obligated or anything.”

“I don’t. Just reminded me that your old man told me to move into the house instead of staying with Kisuke when I’m in the Living World.” Hefting the woollen weight in his arms, Grimmjow started running. “Gotta be honest, it’s tempting. Pretty sure Kisuke has my room rigged with sensors and cameras. No clue how he’s seen my dick otherwise.” Rooftops blurred together in a streak as he made his first sonido jump. Completely oblivious to the g-force of a leap like that, Kurosaki was gaping at him in red-cheeked shock.

“Dad told you to live with us? Why? Where? My bed’s too small.” Realising what he’d said, he covered his face with both hands. “Not that I was thinking you’d have to sleep in my bed every night.”

“No, I’m gonna,” Grimmjow said seriously. The Kurosaki house was a little golden glow in the distance. Adjusting his angle a little, he leaped again. “If you’ve got no complaints.” He landed at the doorstep of the house, releasing Kurosaki’s legs first so he could stand. There was a crust of ice on his coat. “You cold?”

“Nah. Even in this body I’m still pretty durable. Probably all that endurance training over the years.” Moving a potted plant and grabbing the key hidden under it, Kurosaki looked up and smiled. “Now you know where the house key is. Yeah, I think you should definitely stay with us from now on.” Before Grimmjow could reply, he blinked and frowned up at the eaves. “Oh, come on.” Grimmjow looked up.

Pinned to the very eaves they were standing beneath was another sprig of mistletoe. A huge one this time, tied with red ribbon. There was a small brass bell hanging off it. Kurosaki swiped at it a couple of times, trying to yank it down. Grimmjow knocked his hand away.

“Can’t fuck with tradition, Kurosaki. It’s bad luck.”

“I’ll kiss you any time you want,” he replied. “But these things are a menace. What if Urahara comes over and Yuzu answers the door? He’ll go to jail.”

“Not seeing a downside there,” Grimmjow told him, pulling him in by his waist. “You’d better kiss me properly. I want tongue this time. A lot of it. For Christmas.”

“For Christmas,” Kurosaki repeated, staring directly at his mouth. “I guess I can do that.” He leaned in.

Lips were cold again, Grimmjow noted at the first careful, questing touch. Ducking his head a little, he caught Kurosaki’s lower lip between his and gave it a soft suck, trying to warm it up. Hearing a low noise escape Kurosaki in response, he did it again just for fun. When the tip of a warm tongue touched his, Grimmjow eagerly opened his mouth. A long, luxurious minute was lost to that exploration. Around them, the snow began falling again in earnest.

After another few moments, Kurosaki pulled away, presumably so he didn’t suffocate. He smelled like flushed skin and soap and cinnamon. Grimmjow knew he could get drunk on a scent like that, if it was coming off him. Letting him catch his breath, Grimmjow nuzzled his mouth along the line of his jaw. It caused another small, strangled sound. He could get used to that sound real fuckin’ fast.

“Let’s go inside,” Kurosaki said finally, grabbing the edge of his coat and tugging. His gaze was almost burning with promise. “I think I’ve got a present I want to give you.”

“Oh yeah?” Grimmjow said, following as he unlocked the house and pushed the door open. “Like what? I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.” A hand grabbed his belt buckle and started tugging. “Come on, I said I wanted to see you on my bed. I’d better get my Christmas wish.”

“Not actually Santa,” Grimmjow reminded him, pointing at his antlers. “But I can give you a good ride.”

Kurosaki cracked a wicked smile. “We’ll make do somehow. Merry Christmas, Grimmjow.”

“Back at you, Kurosaki.” Behind him, the door closed with a quiet, private click.

Definitely not how he’d thought his festive season was gonna go, Grimmjow thought as he was shoved into the wall and kissed to within an inch of his life. Still hadn’t gotten his fight, but maybe it wasn’t as important as it used to be. There’d be time for it later. Just then, he had more interesting things on his mind. From the licking, biting kisses making their way down his scarred chest, Kurosaki did too.

All that from a stupid sprig of leaves and a crafty lie. Throwing Kurosaki over his shoulder, ignoring his yelling about shoes on in the house, Grimmjow kicked his boots off and headed for the stairs. He had a bed to pose on, after all.

“Hey, Grimmjow?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you leave the antlers on?”

Yeah, he was definitely going to make it a Christmas for Kurosaki to remember.

“Done.”


End file.
